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AUTHOR' 


WELSH,  ALFRED  HIX 


TITLE: 


MAN  AND  HIS 
RELATIONS 


PL  A  CE : 


COLUMBUS 

DATE: 

1887 


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W465 


V/elsh,   Alfred  Hix,    1850-1889. 

Man  and  his  relations,  by  Alfred  H 
Columbus,  Potts,  1887. 


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MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS 


BY 


ALFRED  H.  WELSH,  A.  M. 

Author  of  Development  of  English  Literature  and  Language, 
Essentials  of  Geometry,  Essentials  of  English, 
Complete  Rhetoric,  etc. 


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The  true  Shekinah  is  Man.  —  Chrysostom. 

Do  not  believe  that  a  book  is  good,  if  in  reading  it  thou  dost  not  become  more 
contented  with  thy  existence,  if  it  does  not  rouse  up  in  thee  most  generous  feelings.  — 
Lavater. 


COLUMBUS  AND  CINCINNATI 
POTTS  &  LEECH  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1887 


Ohio  Valley  Press 
cincinnati 


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Copyright,  1885 

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91 


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TO 


GOVEENOR  CHARLES  FOSTER 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  VOLTJME  AS  A  TOKEK  OF  MY  MORE  THAN 


ORDINARY   AFFECTION 


A.  H.  W. 


PEEFACE. 


mUE  aim  herein  embodied  has  been  to  prepare,  in  accordance  with  the 
i    publisher's  request,  a  book  culled  from  the  flowers  of  all  books,  culled, 
however,  conformably  to  the  requirements  of  a  work  of  art -unity,  wholeness, 
eelf-completion ;   a  book  that  should  follow  and  represent  a  line  of  thought, 
furnishing   to   man,  in   the  wisdom  of   the  best   minds,  and   in   the  world's 
choicest  forms   of    expression,  the  essential  principles    and    lessons    for    the 
conduct  of  life -life  viewed  in  its  relations  to  the  physical  and  the  spirit- 
ual, the  human  and  the  Divine,  the  finite  and  the  infinite.     The  labor  has 
been  one  of  love,  and  it  is  hoped  that  the  work,  thus  sought  to  be  enriched 
with  the  wealth  of   the  great  souls,  and  warmed  with  the  life-blood  of  the 
master  spirits,  will  be  found   to  serve  for  delight  and  for  use,  both  to  the 
scholar  and  the  general  reader,  the  aspiring  among  the  young  and  the  cul- 
tivated among  the  old.     What  path  is  more  full  of  pleasantness  and  peace, 
not  to  say  of   mental  and  moral  gain,  than  that  which  leads  us  into  close 
contact  with  noble  natures?    "I  am  not  the  rose,"  says  the  Eastern  apologue, 
"but  I  live  with  the  rose,  and  so  I  have  become  sweet." 


A.  H.  WELSH. 


Columbw,  July  21,  1885. 


OOE"TENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE 

THE  ENVIKONMENT ^ 

Aspects  and  Attitudes 

Law 

Unity  and  Kinship ^^ 

Mind ^^ 

Beauty • ^^ 

Adaptation ; 

Limitations 

Fate ^^ 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE    NATURE  OF  MAN • ^^ 

Evil  of  Putting  a  Low  Estimate  on  Man 59 

Faculties ^^ 

Intellect ^^ 

Sensibility ^^ 

Will ^^ 

71 

Moral  Sense '  ^ 

Genius '^^ 

Talent ^^ 

Duality ^^ 

Contradictions °* 

Classifications ^^ 

Importance  of  the.  Individual ^^ 

The  Cycle  of  Man l^^ 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

PAGE. 

MAN  IN  ACTION IO5 

Gifts iQQ 

Callings HO 

Misdirection . ,  , U4 

The  Merchant II7 

The  Lawyer 221 

The  Politician ^^28 

The  Physician j3]^ 

The  Journalist 237 

The  Preacher j3g 

The  Teacher j^y 

Which? Z.'.'.'.]Z'.'.'.Z'.Z'.Z  151 

One's  Star ^  c^ 

City  and  Country j^g 

Public  and  Private  Life jgg 

Law  of  Labor 1  gq 

Limitations  of  Labor -j^ijn 

Blessedness  of  Labor ^^^ 

Manhood  Lost  or  Won  in  Material  Pursuits 175 

CHAPTER    IV. 
^^I>« 183 

^^°^^ 191 

^^^"^ 195 

Happiness ^  qq 

Doing  Good 206 

Character o^  _ 

Higher  and  Lower oie 

Essentials  of  Life nno 

CHAPTER    V. 
MEANS 227 

^°^^«*^^ !231 

Concentration 


''4 


MEANS— Cbn^inuea.  ^^*^*- 

„     .  ,  244 

Persistency 

247 
Self-Reliance 

Method ^^^ 

^  257 

Economy 

Minute  Faithfulness ^^^ 

T  ,      .,  267 

Integrity 

„  209 

Hope 

Difficulty ^^^ 

276 
Mental  Cultivation 

Health ^^^ 

286 
The  Necessity  for  an  Ideal 

CHAPTER  VI. 

9Q1 
HABITS ^""^ 

Improvement  of  Time " 

907 

Work  and  Play -*^' 

Politeness 

Cleanliness 

^  ,  310 

Tobacco 

314 
Intemperance 

Impure  Thought ^^^ 

Self-Examination ^^^ 

Moral  Relations  of  Habit ^^6 

CHAPTER    VII. 

CULTURE ' ^^^ 

True  Idea  of  Education ^^^ 

Ethical • 

Volitional 

jEsthetical 

Studies 

Books  and  Reading ^^^ 

Novels 


CONTENTS, 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


CUUIVB^E—Cmtinued.  page. 

Newspapers 386 

Amusements 389 

Company 395 

Conversation 398 

Eight  Use  of  Speech 402 

The  School  of  Life 406 

Lesson  of  Energy 411 

Lesson  of  Obedience 413 

Who  is  a  Gentleman  ? 414 

Who  is  a  Lady  ? ....,,,  418 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

DOMESTIC  ASPECTS 421 

Woman , 425 

Love 431 

Courtship 435 

Marriage 441 

Husband  and  Wife , 450 

Duties  of  Parents . ...    461 

Childhood 466 

Government 467 


V 


CHAPTER    IX. 


CHAPTER    X. 

PAGE. 

POLITICAL  ASPECTS 538 

National  Forces •' ^44 

Parties 549 

Politicians ^5- 

The  Party  Man 554 

Statesmen 558 

The  Bane  of  the  Eepublic 561 

Free  Trade  or  Protection 565 

England  and  America 572 

Melioration 577 


CHAPTER    XI. 

t 

RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS 579 

Trust 581 

Reverence 583 

Worship 584 

Church-going 589 

Utilization  of  Evil 591 

Consequences 596 

The  Coming  Night 599 

Immortality 604 

Grandeur  of  Man 609 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS 477 

Fashion 434 

Dress 496 

Gossip 501 

Coquetry  and  Flirtation 506 

Friendship 5O9 

Distribution  and  Caste 513 

Capital  and  Labor 524 

The  Art  of  Living  with  Others , 533 


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OHAPTEE    I. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


Hill  and  valley,  seas  and  constellations,  are  but  stereotypes  of  divine  ideas  appealing 
to  and  answered  by  the  living  soul  of  man.  —  Dr.  Chapin. 

NATURE,  natural,  and  the  group  of  words  derived  from 
them,  or  allied  to  them  in  etymology,  have  at  all  times  filled 
a  great  place  in  the  thoughts  and  taken  a  strong  hold  on  the  feel- 
ings of  mankind.  That  they  should  have  done  so  is  not  surpris- 
ing, when  we  consider  what  the  words,  in  their  primitive  and 
most  obvious  signification,  represent;  but  it  is  unfortunate  that  a 
set  of  terms  which  play  so  great  a  part  in  moral  and  metaphysical 
speculation  should  have  acquired  many  meanings  different  from 
the  primary  one,  yet  sufficiently  allied  to  it  to  admit  of  confu- 
sion. The  words  have  thus  become  entangled  in  so  many  foreign 
associations,  mostly  of  a  very  powerful  and  tenacious  character, 
that  they  have  come  to  excite,  and  to  be  the  symbols  of,  feelings 
which  their  original  meaning  will  by  no  means  justify;  and 
which  have  made  them  one  of  the  most  copious  sources  of  false 
taste,  false  ])hilosophy,  false  morality,  and  even  bad  law.  .  .  . 
According  to  the  Platonic  method,  which  is  still  the  best  type  of 
such  investigations,  the  first  thing  to  be  done  with  so  vague  a 
term  is  to  ascertain  precisely  what  it  means.  It  is  also  a  rule  of 
the  same  method,  that   the    meaning  of  an  abstraction  is  best 

sought  for  in  the  concrete — of  an  universal  in  the  particular. 
2 


2  MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 

Adopting  this  course  with  the  word  Nature,  the  first  question 
must  be,  what  is  meant  by  the  "nature"  of  a  particular  object- 
as  of  fire,  of  water,  or  of  some  individual  plant  or  animal? 
Evidently  the  ensemble  or  aggregate  of  its  powers  or  properties: 
the  modes  in  which  it  acts  on  other  things  (counting  among  those 
thino-s  the  senses  of  the  observer),  and  the  modes  in  which  other 
things  act  upon  it;  to  which,  in  the  case  of  a  sentient  being,  must 
be  added  its  own  capacities  of  feeling,  or  being  conscious.  The 
nature  of  a  tiling  means  all  this— means  its  entire  capacity  of 
exhibiting  phenomena.  And  since  the  phenomena  which  a  thing 
exhibits,  however  much  they  vary  in  different  circumstances,  are 
always  the  same  in  the  same  circumstances,  they  admit  of  being 
described  in  general  forms  of  words,  which  are  called  the  laivs  of 
the  thin^r's  nature.  Thus,  it  is  a  law  of  the  nature  of  water  that, 
under  the  mean  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  at  the  level  of  the  sea, 
it  boils  at  212°  Fahrenheit. 

As  the  nature  of  any  given  thing  is  the  aggregate  of  its  powers 
and  properties,  so  Nature  in  the  abstract  is  the  aggregate  of  the 
powers  and  properties  of  all  things.  Nature  means  the  sum  of 
all  phenomena,  together  with  the  causes  which  produce  them ; 
including  not  only  all  that  happens,  but  all  that  is  capable  of 
happening;  the  unused  capabilities  of  causes  being  as  much  a 
part  of  the  idea  of  Nature  as  those  which  take  effect.  Since  all 
phenomena  which  have  been  sufficiently  examined  are  found  to 
take  place  with  regularity,  each  having  certain  fixed  conditions, 
positive  and  negative,  on  the  occurrence  of  which  it  invariably 
happens,  mankind  has  been  able  to  ascertain,  either  by  direct 
observation  or  by  reasoning  processes  grounded  on  it,  the  condi- 
tions of  the  occurrence  of  many  phenomena;  and  the  progress  of 
science  mainly  consists  in  ascertaining  those  conditions.  When 
discovered  they  can  be  expressed  in  general  propositions,  which 


I 


THE   ENVIRONilEXT. 


3 


are  called  laws  of  the  particular  phenomena,  and  also,  more 
generally,  Laws  of  Nature.  Thus,  the  truth  that  all  material 
objects  tend  toward  one  another  with  a  force  directly  as  their 
masses  and  inversely  as  the  square  of  their  distance  is  a  law  of 
Nature.  The  proposition  that  air  and  food  are  necessary  to 
animal  life,  if  it  be,  as  we  have  good  reason  to  believe,  true  with- 
out exception,  is  also  a  law  of  Nature,  though  the  phenomenon  of 
which  it  is  the  law  is  special,  and  not,  like  gravitation,  universal. 

Nature,  then,  in  this,  its  simplest  acceptation,  is  a  collective 
name  for  all  facts,  actual  and  possible:  or  (to  speak  more 
accurately)  a  name  for  the  mode,  partly  known  to  us  and  partly 
unknown,  in  which  all  things  take  place.  For  the  word  suggests, 
not  so  much  the  multitudinous  detail  of  the  phenomena,  as  the 
conception  which  might  be  formed  of  their  manner  of  existence 
as  a  mental  whole,  by  a  mind  possessing  a  complete  knowledge 
of  them :  to  which  conception  it  is  the  aim  of  science  to  raise 
itself,  by  successive  steps  of  generalization  from  experience. 

Such,  then,  is  a  correct  definition  of  the  word  Nature.  But 
this  definition  corresponds  only  to  one  of  the  senses  of  that 
ambiguous  term.  It  is  evidently  inapplicable  to  some  of  the 
modes  in  which  the  word  is  familiarly  employed.  For  example, 
it  entirely  conflicts  with  the  common  form  of  speech  by  which 
Nature  is  opposed  to  Art,  and  natural  to  artificial.  For  in  the 
sense  of  the  word  Nature  which  has  just  been  defined,  and  which 
is  the  true  scientific  sense.  Art  is  as  much  Nature  as  anything 
else;  and  everything  which  is  artificial  is  natural.  Art  has  no 
independent  powers  of  its  own.  Art  is  but  the  employment  of 
the  powers  of  Nature  for  an  end.  Phenomena  produced  by 
human  agency,  no  less  than  those  which,  as  far  as  we  are  con- 
cerned, are  spontaneous,  depend  on  the  properties  of  the 
elementary   forces,  or  of  the   elementary   substances   and  their 


MAN  AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


compounds.  The  united  powers  of  the  whole  human  race  conld 
not  create  a  new  property  of  matter  in  general,  or  of  any  one  of 
its  species.  AVe  can  only  take  advantage,  for  our  purposes,  of  the 
properties  which  we  find.  A  ship  floats  hy  the  same  laws  of 
specific  gravity  and  equilibrium  as  a  tree  uprooted  by  the  wind 
and  blown  into  the  water.  The  corn  which  men  raise  for  food 
grows  and  produces  its  grain  by  the  same  laws  of  vegetation  by 
which  the  wild  rose  and  the  mountain  strawberry  bring  forth 
their  flowers  and  fruit.  A  house  stands  and  holds  together  by 
the  natural  properties — the  weight  and  cohesion  of  the  materials 
which  compose  it.  A  steam  engine  works  by  the  natural  expansive 
force  of  steam  exerting  a  pressure  upon  one  part 'of  a  system  of 
arrangements,  which  pressure,  by  the  mechanical  properties  of 
the  lever,  is  transferred  from  that  to  another  part,  w^here  it  raises 
the  weight  or  removes  the  obstacle  brought  into  connection  with 
it.  In  these  and  all  other  artificial  operations  the  office  of  man 
is,  as  has  often  been  remarked,  a  very  limited  one;  it  consists  in 
moving  things  into  certain  places.  We  move  objects,  and  by 
doing  this,  bring  some  things  into  contact  which  were  separate, 
or  separate  others  which  were  in  contact;  and  by  this  simple 
change  of  place,  natural  forces  previously  dormant  are  called  into 
action,  and  produce  the  desired  effect.  Even  the  volition  which 
desi<>-ns,  the  intellierence  which  contrives,  and  the  muscular  force 
which  executes,  these  movements,  are  themselves  powers  of 
Nature. 

It  thus  appears  that  we  must  recognize  at  least  two  principal 
meanings  in  the  word  Xature.  In  one  sense,  it  means  all  the 
powers  existing  in  either  the  outer  or  the  inner  world,  and  every- 
thing which  takes  place  by  means  of  those  powers.  In  another 
sense,  it  means,  not  everything  which  happens,  but  only  what 
takes  place  without  the  agency,  or  without  the  voluntary  and 


THE   ENVIRONMENT.  O 

intentional  agency,  of  man.  This  distinction  is  far  from  exhaust- 
ing the  ambiguities  of  the  word,  but  it  is  the  key  to  most  of 
those  on  which  important  consequences  depend.^ 

Aspects  and  Attitudes.— Each   of  the   Physical    Sciences 
attempts  to  explain  the  outward  world  in  one  of  its  aspects,  to 
interpret  it  from  one  point  of  view.     And  the  whole  circle  of  the 
Physical  Sciences,  or  Physical  Science  in  its  widest  extent,  con- 
fines itself  to  explaining  the  appearances  of  the  material  world  by 
the  properties  of  matter,  and  to  reducing  what  is  complex  and 
manifold  to  the  operation  of  a  few  simple  but  all-pervading  laws. 
But   besides   those    aspects  of  Nature    which    Physical    Science 
explains,  over  and  above  those  laws  which  the  Sciences  discover, 
there   are  other    sides  or  aspects  of  Nature  which  come  to  us 
through  other  than  scientific  avenues,  and  which,  when  they  do 
reach  us,  bring  home  to  us  new  truth,  and  raise  us  to  noble  con- 
templations.    This  ordered  array  of  material  appearances,  these 
marshaled  lines  of  Nature's  sequences,  wonderful  and  beautiful 
though  they  be,  are  not  in  themselves  all.     No  reasonable  being 
can  rest  in  them.     Inevitably,  he  is  carried  out  of  and  beyond 
these  to  other  inquiries   which  no  Physics  can  answer.      How 
stand  these  phenomena  to  the  thinking  mind  and  feeling  heart 
which  contemplates  them  ?  how  came  they  to  be  as  they  are?  are 
they  there  of  themselves,  or  is  there  a  Higher  Center  from  which 
they  proceed?  what  is  their  origin?  what  the  goal  toward  which 
they  travel?    Inquiries  such  as  these,  which  are  the  genuine  prod- 
uct of  Eeason,  lead  us  for  their  answer,  not  to  the  Physics  of 
the  Universe,  but  to  another  order  of  thought— to  Poetry,  to 
Philosophy,  and  to  Theology.     And  the  light  thrown  from  these 
regions  on  this  marvelous  outward  framework,  while  it  contradicts 
nothing  in  the  body  of  truth  which  Science  has  made  good,  per- 
meates the  whole  with  a  higher  meaning,  and  transfigures  it  with 


1  John  Stuart  Mill. 


6 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


a   splendor   ^vhich   is   Divine.      .      .      .      Ko    doubt,    even    in 
the  most  remote  eras,  when  savage  men  dwelt  naked  in  caves,  or 
cowered  in  abject  worship  before  the  blind  forces  of  Nature,  and 
lived  in  terror  of  wild  beasts,  or  of  each  other,  even  then  there 
must  have  been  moments  when  their  hearts  were  imaginatively 
touched,  as  either  the  hurricane  or  the  thunder  awed  them,  or 
Nature  looked  on  them  more  benignly  through  the  sunset  or  the 
dawn.     In  that  later  stage,  when  the  Aryan  family  had  reached 
their  mythologizing  era,  and,  owing  to  the  weakness  of  their 
abstracting  powers  and  the  strength  of  untutored  imagination, 
were   weaving   the    appearances    of   earth    and   sky    into    their 
hierarchies  of  gods.  Nature  and  Imagination  were  face  to  face, 
and  were  all  in  all.     The  other  intellectual  powers  of  man  were 
as  yet  comparatively   dormant.     He  had   not  yet  learned  con- 
sciously to  disengage  the  thoughts  of  himself  and  of  God  from 
the  visible  appearances  in  which  they  were  still  entangled.    But  to 
trace  the  movements  of  Imagination  through  that  primeval  time 
forms  no  part  of  my  present  task.     Even  without  attempting  this, 
there  is  more  than  enough  to  detain  our  thoughts,  if  we  attempt 
to  trace,  even  in  outline,  some  of  tlie  ways  in  which  the  human 
and  poetic  imagination  has  worked  on  the  outward  world  in  that 
later  stage  when  the  three  great  entities,  God,  Man,  and  Nature, 
were  in  thought  clearly  distinguished.     Though  in  studying  our 
present  subject  it  may  be  necessary,  for  clearness's  sake,  in  some 
measure  to  isolate  Nature  in  thought  from  the  other  two  great 
objects  of  contemplation,  with  which  in  reality  it  is  so  closely 
interwoven,  we  must  never  conceive  of  it  as  if  it  were  really  a 
separate  and  independent  existence.      However   we  may  for  a 
moment  regard  Nature  by  herself,  we  must  not  forget  that  in 
reality  we  can  never  contemplate  it  apart  from  the  other  two 
entities  on  which  it  depends :  that  Nature,  as  mere  isolated  appear- 


THE    ENVIRONMENT.  ' 

ance,  without  a  mind  to  contemplate  and  a  power  to  support  it, 
is  meaningless;  that  all  the  three  objects  of  knowledge  co-exist  at 
every  movement,  interpenetrate  and  modify  each  other  at  every 
turn  of  thought;  and  that  it  is  to  the  light  reflected  on  Nature 
from  the  othe'r  two  that  she  owes  a  large  part  of  her  meaning,  her 
tenderness,  her  suggestiveness,  her  sublimity.     The  tendency  to  . 
isolate  Nature  and  to  regard  it  as  a  self-subsisting  thing,  cut  off 
from  other  existence,  has  been  strong  ever  since  man  came  to  be 
clearly  conscious  of  his  own  distinctness  from  the  world.     In  this, 
as  in  every  other  realm  of  thought,  progress  is  slow;  it  requires 
long  ages  to  get  to  the  right  mental  attitude.     Among  the  ethnic 
races,  at  least,  there  were  first  the  two  periods  already  noticed— 
one  in  which  man  crouched  in  blind  abject  terror  in  presence  of 
the  elements;  another  marked  by  that  brighter  Nature-worship 
embodied  in  the  Aryan  mythoh)gy,  which,  though  past  its  prime, 
was   still  surviving  when  the  Homeric  poems  were  composed. 
Then  succeeded.the  time  when,  on  the  one  hand,  the  mind  of  man 
separated  itself  from  the  world  and  asserted  its  distinct  existence 
and  when,  on  the  other,  the  thought  of  Deity,  under  the  guidance 
ofreflection  and  pliilosophy,  gradually  extracted  itself  from  the 
visible  appearances  in  which  it  had  been  so  long  imbedded. 

When  this  great  change  had  made  itself  felt,  and  when,  at  the 
same  time,  out-of-door  life  gave  place  to  life  in  cities.  Nature,  in 
a  great  measure,  lost  its  hold  on  man's  regards,  and  retired  into 
the  back<^round  as  a  lifeless  mechanical  thing,  without  interest 
or  beauty,  or   any    intimacy   with    man.     The  material  world, 
indeed,  had  .till  its  utilitarian  value.     It  ministered  to  man  s 
bodily  wants  in  the  thousand  ways  that  immemorial  usage  handed 
down,  and  which  science  in  recent  times  has  so  greatly  multi- 
plied       If    the    refreshing   presence   of    Nature    still    blended 
unawares  with  the  animal  spirits  of   men,  and   cheered   them 


8 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


when  they  Avere  weary,  yet  the  multitudes  cast  on  it  no  imagi- 
native regards,  and  cared  nothing  for  the  poetry  which  mediates 
between  the  eye  and  the  heart.  This  seems  a  true  account  of 
the  mental  attitude  of  the  great  civilized  communities,  down 
even  to  recent  times.  And,  notwithstanding  the  great  move- 
ment toward  Nature  which  is  said  to  characterize  this  modern 
era,  one  may  well  doubt  whether  the  sentiment  has  really  j^ene- 
trated  the  hearts  of  even  the  most  cultivated  men.  Such  thino-s 
must  always  be  difficult  to  gauge.  Yet  one  can  not  but  some- 
times wonder,  if  from  the  modern  love  of  Nature,  and  the  much 
talk  about  it,  there  could  be  deducted  all  that  may  be  set  down 
to  love  of  change,  imitation,  fashion,  and  the  desire  to  meet  the 
expectations  of  refined  society,  how  much  would  remain  of  feel- 
ing that  was  native,  genuine,  and  spontaneous. 

A  few,  we  may  believe,  there  have  been  in  every  age,  and 
more,  perhaps,  in  this  than  in  former  ages,  to  whom,  in  spite  of 
the  prosaic  atmosphere  that  surrounded  them,  Nature  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  dead  machine,  something  even  worthy  of 
affection.  Poets,  too,  were  born  from  age  to  age,  favorite  chil- 
dren of  t 

"Gaudentes  rure   Camoense," 

who  had  their  hearts  oj^ened  in  a  pre-eminent  degree  to  receive 
the  love  of  Nature  themselves,  and  to  awaken  it  in  other  hearts 
by  the  music  which  they  lent  to  it.^ 

Law\  —  According  to  its  derivation,  nature  (natura,  nascitur) 
means  that  which  is  born  or  produced — the  becoming;  that  which 
has  a  beginning  and  an  end;  that  which  has  not  the  cause  of 
its  existence  in  itself,  and  the  cause  of  which  must  be  sought  in 
something  antecedent  to  and  beyond  itself— that  is,  nature  is  the 
phenomenal.  This  the  word  itself  expresses  in  the  strongest 
manner.     That  which  begins  to  be,  as  the  necessary  consequence 

1  J.  C.  Shairp. 


e 


I 


•1 


THE   EKVIEONMEKT. 


9 


of  antecedent  conditions,  is  natural.  The  co-existence,  resem- 
blance, and  succession  of  phenomena  constitute  the  order  of 
Nature;  and  the  uniformity  of  these  relations  among  phenomena 

are  the  laws  of  Nature} 

When  men  first  turned  their  attention  on  the  phenomena  of 
nature,  every  event  was  viewed  as  a  miracle,  for  every  effect  was 
considered  as  the  operation  of  an  intelligence.     God   was  not 
exiled  from  the  universe  of  matter;  on  the  contrary.  He  was  mul- 
tiplied in  proportion  to  its  phenomena.      As  science  advanced, 
the   deities   were   gradually    driven    out;    and    long    after   the 
sublunary  world  had  been  disenchanted,  they  were   left  for  a 
season  in  possession  of  the  starry  heavens.     The  movement  of 
the  celestial  bodies,  in  which  Kepler  still  saw  the  agency  of  a 
free  intelligence,  was  at  length  by  Newton  resolved  into  a  few 
mathematical   principles;    and,  at  last,  even   the   irregularities 
which  Kewton  was  compelled  to  leave  for  the  miraculous  correc- 
tion of  the  Deity  have  been  proved  to  require  no  supernatural 
interposition ;  for  La  Place  has  shown  that  all  contingencies,  past 
and  future,  in  the  heavens,  find  their   explanation  in  the  one 
fundamental  law  of  gravitation.^ 

In  the  intellectual  infancy  of  a  savage  state  man  transfers  to 
Nature  his  conceptions  of  himself,  and,  considering  that  every 
thing  he  does  is  determined  by  his  own  pleasure,  regards  all 
passing   events   as   depending   on   the   arbitrary   volition   of  a 
superior  but  invisible  power.     He  gives  to  the  world  a  consti- 
tution like  his  own.     The  tendency  is  necessarily  to  superstition. 
Whatever  is  strange,  or  powerful,  or  vast,  impresses  his  imagina- 
tion with  dread.     Such  objects  are  only  the  outward  manifesta- 
tions  of   an    indwelling    spirit,    and    therefore    worthy    of  his 
veneration.     After  Reason,  aided  by  Experience,  has  led  him 
forth  from  these  delusions  as  respects  surrounding  things,  he 


1 B.  F.  Cocker,  D.  D. 


«  Sir  William  Hamilton. 


10 


MAN   AND   HIS  KELATIONS. 


still  clings  to  his  original  ideas  as  respects  objects  far  rcnioved. 
la  the  distant  and  irresistible  motions  of  the  stars  he  finds 
arguments  for  the  supernatural,  and  gives  to  eadi  of  those 
shining  bodies  an  abiding  and  controlling  genius.  The  mental 
phase  through  Avhich  he  is  passing  permits  him  to  believe  in  the 
exercise  of  planetary  influences  on  himself.  But  as  Keason  led 
him  forth  from  fetichism,  so  in  due  time  it  again  leads  him  forth 
from  star-worship.  Perhaps  not  without  regret  does  he  abandon 
the  mythological  forms  he  has  created;  for,  long  after  he  has 
ascertained  that  the  planets  are  nothing  more  than  shining 
points,  without  any  perceptible  influence  on  him,  he  still  vener- 
ates the  genii  once  supposed  to  vivify  them — perhaps  even  he 
exalts  them  into  immortal  gods.  Philosophically  speaking,  he 
is  exchanging,  by  ascending  degrees,  his  primitive  doctrine  of 
arbitrary  volition  for  the  doctrine  of  law.  As  the  fall  of  a 
stone,  the  flowing  of  a  river,  the  movement  of  a  shadow,  the 
rustling  of  a  leaf,  have  been  traced  to  physical  causes,  to  like 
causes  at  last  are  traced  the  revolutions  of  the  stars.  In  events 
and  scenes  continually  increasing  in  greatness  and  grandeur,  he 
is  detecting  the  dominion  of  law.  The  goblins,  and  genii,  and 
gods,  who  successively  extorted  his  fear  and  veneration,  who 
determined  events  by  their  fitful  passions  or  whims,  are  at  last 
displaced  by  the  noble  conception  of  one  Almighty  Being,  who 
rules  the  universe  according  to  reason,  and  therefore  according 
to  law.  In  this  manner  the  doctrine  of  government  by  law  is 
extended,  until  at  last  it  embraces  all  natural  events.  It  was 
thus  that,  hardly  two  centuries  ago,  that  doctrine  gathered 
immense  force  from  the  discovery  of  Newton  that  Kepler's  laws, 
under  which  the  movements  of  the  planetary  bodies  are  exe- 
cuted, issue  as  a  mathematical  necessity  from  a  very  simple 
material  condition,  and   that  the   complicated   motions   of  the 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


11 


4 


solar  system  can  not  be  other  than  what  they  are.     Few  of  those 
who  read  in  the  beautiful  geometry  of  the  Principia  the  demon- 
stration of  this  fact  saw  the  imposing  philosophical  consequences 
which  must  inevitably  follow  this  scientific  discovery.     And  now 
the  investigation  of  the  aspect  of  the  skies  in  past  ages,  and  all 
predictions  of  its  future,  rest  essentially  upon  the  principle  that 
no  arbitrary  volition  ever  intervenes,  the  gigantic  mechanism 
moving  impassively  in  virtue  of  a  mathematical  law.     And  so, 
upon  the  earth,  the  more  perfectly  we  understand  the  causes  of 
present  events,  the  more  plainly  are  they  seen  to  be  the  conse- 
quences of  physical  conditions,  and  therefore  the  results  of  law. 
To  allude  to  one  example  out  of  many  that  might  be  considered, 
the  winds,  how  proverbially  inconstant!     Who  can  tell  whence 
they  come  or  whither  they  go?     If  anything  bears  the  fitful 
character   of    arbitrary   volition,    surely    it    is   these.     But   we 
deceive  ourselves  in  imagining  that  atmospheric  events  are  for- 
tuitous.    Where   shall  a  line  be  drawn   between   that   eternal 
trade-wind,    which,    originating    in    well-understood    physical 
causes,  sweeps,  like  the  breath  of  destiny,  slowly,  and  solemnly, 
and  everlastingly,  over  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  the  variable  gusts 
into  which  it  degenerates  in  more  northerly  southerly  regions- 
gusts  which  seem  to  come  without  any  cause,  and  to  pass  away 
without   leaving  any  trace?     In  what  latitude  is   it   that   the 
domain  of  the  physical  ends,  and  that  of  the  supernatural  begins? 
All  mundane  events  are  the  results  of  the  operation  of  law. 
Every  movement  in  the  skies  or  upon  the  earth  proclaims  to  us 
that  the  universe  is  under  government.     But  if  we  admit  that 
this  is  the   case,  from  the  mote  that   floats  in  the  sunbeam  to 
muhiple   stars  revolving   round   each  other,  are   we  willing  to 
carry  our  principles  to  their  consequences,  and  to  recognize  a  like 
operation  of  law  among  living  as  among  lifeless  things,  in  the 


12 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


13 


organic  as  well  rs  the  inorganic  world?     What  testimony  does 
physiology  offer  on  this  point?     Physiology,  in  its  progress,  has 
passed  throngh  the  same  phases  as  physics.     Living  beings  have 
been  considered  as  beyond  the  po^yer  of  external  influences,  and, 
conspicuously  among  them,  Man  has  been  affirmed  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  the  forces  that  rule  the  world  in  which  he  lives.     Be- 
sides that  immaterial  principle,  the  soul,  which  distinguishes  him 
from  all  his  animated  companions,  and  makes  him  a  moral  and 
responsible  being,  he   has    been    feigned,  like  them,  to  possess 
another  immaterial  principle,  the  vital  agent,  which,  in  a  way  of 
its  own,  carries  forward  all  the  various  operations  in  his  economy. 
But  when  it  was  discovered  that  the  heart  of  man  is  constructed 
upon  the  recognized  rules  of  hydraulics,  and,  with  its  great  tubes, 
is  furnished  with  common  mechanical  contrivances,  valves;  when 
it   was   discovered,  especially   to    man,  that   the   eye  has   been 
arranged  on  the  most  refined    principles  of  optics,  its   cornea, 
and  humors,  and  lens,  properly  converging  the  rays  to  form  an 
image — its  iris,  like  the  diaphragm  of  a  telescope  or  microscope, 
shutting  out  stray  light,  and  regulating  the  quantity  admitted; 
when  it  was  discovered  that  the  car  is  furnished  with  the  means 
of  dealing  with  the  three  characteristics  of  sound — its  tympanum 
for  intensity,  its    cochlea  for  pitch,  its  semi-circular  canals  for 
quality;  when  it  was  seen  that  the  air  brought  into  the  great 
air  passages  by  the  descent  of  the   diaphragm,  calling  into  i)lay 
atmospheric  pressure,  is  conveyed   upon  physical  principles  into 
the  ultimate  cells  of  the  lungs,  and  thence  into  the  blood,  pro- 
ducing  chemical   changes   throughout   the  system,  disengaging 
heat,  and  permitting  all  the  functions  of  organic  life  to  go  on; 
when   these   facts  and  very  many  others  of  a  like    kind   were 
brought   into  prominence  by  modern    physiology,  it   obviously 
became  necessary  to  admit  that  animated  beings  do  not  constitute 


that  exception  once  supposed,  and  that  organic  operations  arc  the 

result  of  physical  agencies.* 

The  Reign  of  Law-is  this,  then,  the  reign  under  which  ^ve 
Uve^    Yes,  in  a  sense  it  is.     There  is  no  denying  it.    The  whole 
.orld  around  us,  and  the  wh.,le  world  within  us,  are  ruled  by 
Law.     Our  very  spirits  are  subject  to  it-those  sp.nts  w Inch  yet 
•    seem  so  spiritual,  so  subtle,  so  free.     How  often  in  the  darkness 
do  they  feel  the  restraining  walls-bounds  w.th.n  wl.ch  they 
move-conditions  out  of  which  they  can  not  think!     The  per- 
ception  of  this  is  growing  in  the  consciousness  of  men.     It  grows 
with  the  growth  of  knowledge ;  it  is  the  delight,  the  reward,  the 
.oal  of  Science.     From  Science  it  passes  into  every  do  mam  of 
Lu.ht,   and    invades,  amongst    others,   the    Theology  of  the 
Church.     And  so  we  see  the  men  of  Theology  coming  out  to 
parley  with  the  men  of  Science-a  white  flag  in  their  hands,  and 
savin..    "  If  you  will  let  us  alone,  we  will  do  the  same  by  you 
Keep^'to  your  own  province;  do  not  enter  ours.     The  Reign  o 
Law  which  you  proclaim  we  admit-outside  these  ^valls  but  no 
.vlthin  then.;  let  there  be  peace  between  us."     But  tins  w.l 
„evcr  do.     There  can  be  no  such  treaty  dividing  the  doma.n  of 

Truth  ^ 

VmrY  A>-D  KIKSHIP.-One  principle  of  gravitation  causes  a 

stone  to  drop  toward  the  earth,  and  the  moon  to  wheel  round  .t. 

One  law  of  attraction  carries  all  the  different  planets  about    he 

sun      This    philosophers    demonstrate.     There   are   also    other 

points  of  agreement  amongst  them,  which  may  be  considered  as 

nlks  of  tl  identity  of  their  origin,  and  of  their  .ntelhgent 

Author      In  all  are  found  the  conveniency  and  stability  derived 

from  gravitation.     They  all  experience  vicissitudes  of  days  and 

nLhts!  and  changes  of  season.     They  all,  at  least  Jupiter   Mars 

and  Venus,  have  the  same  advantages  from  their  atmosphere  as 

1  J.  W.  Draper,  LL.D.  '  0"1=«  »'  ■'^'^^^■ 


• 


1i 

-Jtf 


14 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


15 


we  have.  In  all  the  planets,  the  axes  of  rotation  are  permanent. 
Nothing  is  more  probable  than  that  the  same  attracting  influence, 
acting  according  to  the  same  rule,  reaches  to  the  fixed  stars;  but, 
if  this  be  only  probable,  another  thing  is  certain,  viz.:  that  the 
same  element  of  light  does.  The  light  from  a  fixed  star  affects 
our  eyes  in  the  same  manner,  is  refracted  and  reflected  according 
to  the  same  laws,  as  the  lij^ht  of  a  candle.  The  velocity  of  the 
lijrht  of  the  fixed  stars  is  also  the  same  as  the  velocity  of  the  liirht 
of  the  sun,  reflected  from  the  satellites  of  Jupiter.  The  heat  of 
the  sun,  in  kind,  differs  nothing  from  the  heat  of  a  coal  fire.  In 
our  own  globe,  the  case  is  clearer.  New  countries  are  continually 
discovered,  but  the  old  laws  of  nature  are  always  found  in  them: 
ne\v  plants,  perhaps,  or  animals,  but  always  in  company  with 
plants  and  animals  which  Ave  already  know,  and  always  possess- 
ing many  of  the  same  general  properties.  We  never  get  among 
such  original  or  totally  different  modes  of  existence,  as  to  indi- 
cate that  we  are  come  into  the  province  of  a  different  Creator,  or 
under  the  direction  of  a  different  will.  In  truth,  the  same  order 
of  things  attends  us  wherever  we  go.  The  elements  act  upon 
one  another,  electricity  operates,  the  tides  rise  and  fall,  the 
magnetic  needle  elects  its  position  in  one  region  of  the  earth  and 
sea  as  well  as  in  another.  One  atmosphere  invests  all  parts  of 
the  globe,  and  connects  all ;  one  sun  illuminates;  one  moon  exerts 
its  specific  attraction  upon  all  parts.  If  there  be  a  variety  in 
natural  effects,  as,  e.  g.,  in  the  tides  of  different  seas,  that  very 
variety  is  the  result  of  the  same  cause,  acting  under  different 
circumstances.^ 

Nature  is  always  consistent,  though  she  feigns  to  contravene 
her  own  laws.  She  keeps  her  laws,  and  seems  to  transcend  them. 
She  arms  and  equips  an  animal  to  find  its  place  and  living  in  the 
earth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  arms  and  equips  another  animal 

1  Paley. 


to  dectroy  it.     Space  exists  to  divide  creatures;  but  Ly  clothing 
the  sides  of  a  bird  .itli  a  few  feathers,  she  gives  him  a  petty 
omnipresence.     The  direction  is  forever  onward   but  the  artist 
still  goes  back  for  materials,  and  begins  again  .vnth  the  first  ele- 
ments on  the  most  advanced  stage:  otherwise,  all  goes  to  nun. 
If  we  look  at  her  work,  .ve  seem  to  eateh  a  glance  of  a  s,-stem  m 
transition.     Plants  arc  the  young  of  the  .-orld,  vessels  of  health 
and  vi,or;   but  they  grope  ever  upward  toward  consciousness. 
The  tr^es  are  imperfect  men,  and  seem  to  bemoan  the.r  imprison- 
„.cnt,  rooted  in  the  ground.     The  animal  is  the  novice  and  pro- 
bationer of  a  more  advanced  order.     The  men,  though  young, 
having  tasted  the  first  drop  from  the  cup  of  thought,  are  already 
dissipated.     The  maples  and  ferns  arc  still  uncorrupt ;  yet  no 
doubt,  when  they  come  to  consciousness,  they,  too,  will  curse  and 
.wear.     Flowers  so  strictly  belong  to  youth  that  we  adult  men 
loon  come  to  feel  that  their  beautiful  generations  concern  not  us: 
.e  have  had  our  day  ;  now  let  the  children  have  theirs.     The 
flowers  jilt  us,  and   we  are  old  bachelors,  with  our  ridiculous 

tenderness.^    ,  ^  ,       .   .  .      -    ,x^^ 

The  .^reatest  delight  which  the  fields  and  woods  minister  is  the 

su^^estln  of  an  occult  relation  between  man  and  the  vegetable. 

I  Z.  not  alone  and  unacknowledged.     They  nod  to  me,  and  I  to 

them.     The  waving  of  the  bough  in  the  storm  is  new  to  me,  and 
old      It  takes  me  by  surprise,  and  yet  is  not  unknown.     Its  effect 
is  like  that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a  better  emotion  coming  over 
me,   when    I  deemed   I   was  thinking  justly    or  doing   right 
Isext  to  the  household  faces,  is  not  the  visible  world  the  earliest 
existence  that  we  know,  the  last  we  lose  sight  of  in  our  earthly 
.ojourn?    All  his  life  long  man  is  encompassed  with  it,  and  never 
.ets  bevond  Its  reach.     He  lies  an  Infant  in  the  lap  of  Mature 
before  he  has  awakened  to  any  consciousness.     When  conscious- 


1  Emerson. 


2  Ibid. 


16 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


17 


ness  does  awaken  within  him,  the  external  world  is  the  occasion 
of  the  awakening,  the  first  thing  he  learns  to  know  at  the  same 
time  that  he  learns  his  mother^s  look  and  his  own  existence.  For 
the  growing  boy  she  is  the  homely  nurse  tliat,  long  before  schools 
and  school-masters  intermeddle  with  him,  feeds  his  mind  with 
materials,  pouring  into  him  alike  the  outward  framework  of  his 
thought  and  the  colors  that  flush  over  the  chambers  of  his 
imagery.  The  expressive  countenance  of  this  earth  and  of  these 
heavens,  glad  or  pensive,  stern  or  dreary,  sublime  or  homely,  is 
looking  in  on  his  heart  at  every  hour,  and  mingling  with  his 
dreams.  Nature  is  wooing  his  spirit  in  manifold  and  mysterious 
ways,  to  elevate  him  with  her  vastness  and  sublimity,  to  gladden 
him  with  her  beauty,  to  depress  him  with  her  bleakness,  to  restore 
him  with  her  calm.  This  quick  interchange  of  feeling  between 
the  world  without  and  the  world  within,  this  vast  range  of 
sympathy,  so  subtle,  so  unceasing,  so  mysterious,  is  a  fact  as  cer- 
tain and  as  real  as  the  flow  of  the  tides  or  the  motion  of  the  earth. ^ 
Mind. — A  law  supposes  an  agent  and  a  'power :  for  it  is  a  mode 
according  to  which  the  power  acts.  Without  the  presence  of 
such  an  agent,  of  sucli  a  power,  conscious  of  the  relations  on 
which  the  law  depends,  producing  the  effects  which  the  law  pre- 
scribes, the  law  can  have  no  efliciency,  no  existence.  Hence  we 
infer  that  the  intelligence  by  which  the  law  is  ordained,  the 
power  by  which  it  is  put  in  action,  must  be  present  in  all  places 
where  the  effects  of  the  law  occur;  that  thus  the  knowledjze  and 
agency  of  the  Divine  Being  pervade  every  portion  of  the  universe, 
producing  all  action  and  passion,  all  permanence  and  change. 
The  laws  of  Nature  are  the  laws  which  He  in  His  wisdom  prescribes 
to  His  own  acts;  His  universal  presence  is  the  necessary  condition 
of  any  course  of  events,  His  universal  agency  the  only  origin  of 
any  efficient  force.^ 


And  matter,  seen  essentially,  becomes  spirit  in  fusion  trem- 
bling to  organize  itself.  The  visible  world  is  spirit  outspread 
before  the  senses,  for  the  analysis  of  understanding,  the  synthesis 
of  reason,  and  matter  is  spirit's  coufiue,  limning  bodies  to  the 

senses. 

Out  of  the  chaos  dawns  in  sight  j 

The  globe's  full  form,  in  orbed  light; 

Beam  kindles  beam,  kind  mirrors  kind, 

Nature's  tlie  eye-ball  of  the  Mind ; 

The  fleeting  pageant  tells  for  nought 

Till  shaped  in  Mind's  creative  thought.> 

The  ultimate  problem  of  all  philosophy  and  all  religion  is  this : 
"  How  are  wc  to  conceive  aright  the  origin  and  first  principle  of 
things f '     The  answers,  it  has  been  contended  by  a  living  author 
ofdrstiuguisbed  merit,  are  necessarily  reducible  to  two,  between 
which  all  systems  are  divided,  and  on  the  decision  of  whose  con- 
troversy all  antagonist  speculations  would  lay  down  their  arms. 
"  In  the  beginning  was  Force,"  says  one  class  of  thinkers;  "  force, 
singular  oi    plural,    splitting    into   opposites,  standing   oif  into 
p^lar-.ties,   ramifying   into  attractions  and  repulsions,  heat   and 
magnetism,  and  climl)ing  through  the  stages  of  physical,  vital, 
animal,  to  the  mental  life  itself"     "  On  the  contrary,"  says  the 
other  class,  "  in   the  beginning  was  Thought ;  and  only  in  the 
necessary  evolution  of  its  eternal  ideas  into  expression  does  force 
arise— self-realizing  thought  declaring  itself  in  the  types  of  being 
and  the  lawsof  plienomena."^ 

Nature  will  be  reported :  all  things  are  engaged  in  writing  its 
history.  The  planet,  the  pebble,  goes  attended  by  its  shadow. 
The  roiling  rock  leaves  its  scratches  on  the  mountain,  the  river 
its  channels  in  the  soil,  the  animal  its  bones  in  the  stratum,  the 
fern  and  leaf  their  modest  epitaph  in  the  coal.     The  fallen  drop 


Shairp. 


«  Cocker. 


1  A.  Bronson  Alcott. 


8  James  Martiueau. 


^1 


18 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


makes  its  Sculpture  in  the  sand  or  stone;  not  a  footstep  in  the 
snow,  or  along  the  ground,  but  prints  in  characters  more  or  less 
lasting  a  map  of  its  march  ;  every  act  of  man  inscribes  itself  in  the 
memories  of  his  fellows,  and  in  his  own  face.  The  air  is  full  of 
sounds,  the  sky  of  tokens,  the  ground  of  memoranda  and  signa- 
tures;  and  every  object  is  covered  over  with  hints  which  speak 
to  the  intelligent.^ 

We  see  the  world  piece  by  piece,  as  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
animal,  the  tree;  but  the  whole,  of  which  these  are  the  shining 
parts,  is  the  soul.  Only  by  the  vision  of  tliat  wisdom  can  the 
horoscoj)e  of  the  ages  be  read,  and  by  falling  back  on  our  better 
thoughts,  by  yielding  to  the  spirit  of  prophecy  which  is  innate  in 
every  man,  we  can  know  what  it  saith.  Every  man's  words,  who 
speaks  from  that  life,  must  sound  vain  to  those  who  do  not  dwell 
in  the  same  thought  on  their  own  part.  I  dare  not  speak  for  it. 
My  words  do  not  carry  its  august  sense ;  they  fall  short  and  cold. 
Only  it.-elf  can  inspire  whom  it  will,  and  behold  !  their  speech 
shall  be  Ivrical,  and  sweet,  and  universal  as  the  risin";  of*  the 
wind.  Yet  I  desire,  even  by  profane  words,  if  I  may  not  use 
sacred,  to  indicate  the  heaven  of  this  deity,  and  to  report  what 
hints  I  have  collected  of  the  transcendent  simplicity  and  energy 
of  the  Highest  Law.^ 

AVe  find  in  the  physical  world  at  least  two  ultimate  existences — 
Matter  and  Force.  I  believe  that  we  know  both  of  these  by 
intuition,  and  by  no  process  can  we  get  rid  of  the  one  or  the 
other.  As  to  Force,  it  will  be  expedient  to  look  for  a  moment 
at  the  grandest  scientific  truth  established  in  our  dav — a  doctrine 
worthy  of  being  placed  alongside  that  of  universal  gravitation — 
I  mean  that  of  the  Conservation  of  Physical  Force;  accordin^r 
to  which,  the  sum  of  Force,  actual  and  potential,  in  the  knowable 
universe,  is  always  one  and  the  same  :  it  can  not  be  increased, 

1  Hugh  Miller.  =  Emerson. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


19 


and  it  can  not  be  diminished.  It  has  long  been  known  that  no 
human,  no  terrestrial,  power  can  add  to  or  destroy  the  sum  of 
matter  in  the  cosmos.  You  commit  a  piece  of  paper  to  the 
flames,  and  it  disappears ;  but  it  is  not  lost :  one  part  goes  up  in 
smoke,  and  another  goes  down  in  ashes;  and  it  is  conceivable 
that  at  some  future  time  the  two  may  unite,  and  once  more  form 
paper.  AYhy  may  not  imagination  trace  the  noble  dust  of 
"Alexander  till  we  find  it  stopping  a  bung-hole f'  As  thus: 
Alexander  died;  Alexander  was  buried;  Alexander  returneth 
to  dust;  the  dust  is  earth  ;  of  earth  w^e  make  loam ;  and  why  of 
that  loam,  whereto  he  was  converted,  might  they  not  stop  a  beer 
barrel ? 

"  Imperial  Ca?sar,  dead,  and  turned  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away : 
O,  that  the  earth  which  kept  the  world  in  awe 
Should  patch  a  wall  t'  expel  the  winter's  flaw  !" 


As  man  can  not  create  or  annihilate  matter,  so  he  can  not  create 
or  annihilate  force.  This  doctrine  has  been  scientifically  estab- 
lished in  our  day  by  men  like  Mayer,  Joule,  Henry,  and  others. 
We  now  regard  it  as  one  and  the  same  force,  but  under  a  vast 
variety  of  modifications,  which  warms  our  houses  and  our  bodily 
frames,  which  raises  the  steam  and  impels  the  engine,  which 
effects  the  different  chemical  combinations,  which  flaslies  in  the 
lightning  and  lives  in  the  plant.  Man  may  direct  the  force,  and 
make  it  go  this  w^ay  or  that  w-ay ;  but  he  can  do  so  only  by 
means  offeree  under  a  different  form — by  force  brought  into  his 
frame  by  his  food,  obtained  directly  or  indirectly  through  the 
animal  from  the  plant,  which  has  drawm  it  from  the  sun  ;  and  as 
he  uses  or  abuses  it,  he  can  not  lessen  or  augment  it.  I  move 
my  hand,  and,  in  doing  so,  I  move  the  air,  which  raises  insensibly 
the  temperature  of  the  room,  and  may  lead  to  chemical  changes, 


20 


MAN   AND  1113   RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


21 


and  excite  electric  and  magnetic  currents,  and  take  tlie  circuit  of 
the  universe  without  being  lost  or  lessened.     Now,  the  bearing 
of  this  doctrine  on  religion  seems  to  be  twofold  :    First,  it  fur- 
nishes a  more  striking  manifestation  than  anything  known  before 
of  the  One  God,  with  His  infinitely  varied  perfections— of  His 
power,  His  knowledge,  His  wisdom,  His  love,  His  mercy ;  and  we 
should  see  that  one  Power  blowing  in  the  breeze,  smiling  in  the 
sunshine,  sparkling  in  the  stars,  quickening  us  as  we  bound  along 
in  the  felt  enjoyment  of  health,  efflorescing  in  every  form  and 
hue   of    beauty,   and   showering    down    daily   gifts    upon    us. 
The   profoundest   minds   in  our  day,  and  in  every  day,  have 
been  fond  of  regarding  this  force,  not  as  something  independent 
of  God,  but  as  the  very  power  of  God  acting  in  all  action  ;  so 
that  "  in  Him  we  live,  and  move,  and  haVJ  our  being.^^     Bat, 
secondly*  it  shows  us  that  in  God^s  works,  as  in  God  Himself, 
there  is  a  diversity  with  the  unity  ;  so  that  force  manifests  itself 
now  in  gravity,  now  in  molecular  attraction  and  motion,  now  in 
chemical  affinities  among  bodies,  now^  in  magnetic  and  diamag- 
netic  properties,  now  in  vital  assimilation.     And  we  see  that  all 
these  forces  are  correlated  :  so  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Correlation 
of  all  the  varied  Physical  Forces  stands  alongside  of  the  Con- 
servation of  the  one  Physical  Force ;  and  by  the  action  of  the 
whole,  and  of  every  part  made  to  combine  and  harmonize,  there 
arise  beauteous  forms  and  harmonious  colors;  the  geometry  of 
crystals ;  the  types  of  the  plant,  and  of  every  organ  of  the  plant— 
the  branches,  the  roots,  the  leaves,  the  petals,  the  pistils,  the 
stamens— and  the  types  of  the  animal,  so  that  every  creature  is 
fashioned  after  its  kind,  and  every  limb  takes  its  predetermined 
form,  while  there  is  an  adaptation  of  every  one  part  to  every 
other — of  joint  to  column,  and  joint  to  joint,  of  limb  to  limb, 
and  of  Limb  to  body,  of  the  ear  to  the  vibrating  medium,  and 


the   nostrils  to   odors,  and  the  eye    to  the   varied   undulations 

of  light. 

So  much  for  Force,  with  its  Correlations.     But  with  the  Forces 
we  have   the  matter  of  the   universe,  in  which,  I  believe,  the 
Forces   reside.     It    is  maintained   that   the    worlds   have   been 
formed  out  of  Star  Dust.     Now,  I  have  to  remark  as  to  this  star 
dust,  first  of  all,  that  it  is  at  best  an  hypothesis.     No  human  eye, 
unas'sisted,  has  ever  seen  it.  as  it  gazed,  on  the  clearest  night, 
into  the  depths  of  space.     It  is  doubtful  whether  the  telescope 
has  ever  alighted  upon  it,  in  its  widest  sweeps.     Lord   Rosse's 
telescope,  in  its  first  look  into  the  heavens,  resolved  what  had 
before  been  reckoned  as  star  dust  into  distinctly  forme.i  stars. 
But  I  am  inclined   to   admit  the   existence  of  star  dust  as  an 
hypothesis.     I  believe  it  explains  phenomena  which  require  to 
be  explained,  and  which  can  not  otherwise  be  accounted  for.     I 
allow  it  freely,  that  there  is  evidence  that  the  planets  and  moons 
and  sun  must  have  been  fashioned  out  of  some  such  substance,  at 
first  incandescent,   and  then   gradually   cooling.      But,  then,  it 
behooves  us  to  look  a  little  more  narrowly  into  the  nature  of  this 
star  dust.     Was  it  ever  a  mass  of  unformed  matter,  without  indi- 
viduality, without  properties?     Did  it  contain  within  itself  these 
sixty  elementary  substances,  with  their  capacities,  their  affinities, 
their  attractions,  their  repulsions?     When  a  meteor  comes,  as  a 
stranger,  within  our  terrestrial  sphere,  either  out  of  this  original 
star  dust  or  out  of  planets  which  have  been  reduced  to  the  state 
of  original  star  dust,  it  is  found  to  have  the  same  components  as 
bodies  on   our  earth,  and   these   with  the  .same  properties  and 
affinities.     The   spectroscope,  which   promises   to   reveal   more 
wonders  than  the  telescope  or  microscope,  shows  the  same  ele- 
ments-such as  hydrogen  and  sodium-in  the  sun  and  stars  as 
in  the  bodies  on  the  earth's  surface. 


22 


MAN   AND   niS   RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


23 


The  star  dust,  tlien,  has  already  in  it  these  sixty  elementary 
bodies,  with  all  their  endowmcnts^-gravitating,  mechanical, 
chemical,  magnetic.  Whence  thcso  elements?  Whence  their 
correlations,  thoir  attractions,  their  affinities,  their  fittinrs  into 
each  other,  their  joint  action?  It  is  by  no  means  the  strongest 
point  in  my  cumulative  argument ;  but  it  does  look  as  if,  even  at 
this  stage,  there  had  been  harmonizing  2)0\ver  at  work,  and  dis- 
playing foresight  and  intelligence.  As  to  this  material,  we  must 
hold  one  or  other  of  two  opinions.  One  is,  that  it  had  from  the 
beginning  all  the  capacities  which  afterward  appear  in  the  worlds 
formed  out  of  it.  It  has  not  only  the  mechanical,  but  the  chem- 
ical, the  electric  powers  of  dead  matter;  the  vital  properties  of 
plants  and  animals,  s'l^h  as  assimilation,  absorption,  contractility  ; 
and  the  attributes  of  the  conscious  mind,  as  of  perception  by  the 
senses,  of  memory,  imagination,  comparison,  of  the  appreciation  of 
beauty,  of  sorrow,  of  joy,  of  hope,  of  fear,  of  reason,  of  conscience, 
of  will.  These  capabilities  may  not  yet  be  developed;  but  they 
are  there  in  a  latent,  a  dormant,  state  in  the  incandescent  matter; 
and  are  ready,  on  the  necessary  conditions  being  supplied,  to 
rise  to  the  instincts  of  animals— to  the  love  of  a  mother  for  her 
offspring — to  the  sagacity  of  the  dog,  the  horse,  or  the  elephant — 
to  the  genius  of  a  Moses,  a  Homer,  a  Socrates,  a  Plato,  an 
Aristotle,  a  Paul,  a  John,  a  Shakespeare,  a  Milton,  a  Xewton,  a 
Leibnitz,  or  an  Edwards.  Were  all  this  capacity  in  the  star  dust, 
I  would  bj  constrained  to  seek  for  a  cause  of  it  in  a  Power 
possessed  of  knowledge,  wisdom,  and  beneficence,  planting  seeds 
in  that  soil  to  come  forth  in  due  season.  But  there  is  another 
supposition :  that  these  qualities  were  not  in  the  original  matter, 
but  were  added  from  age  to  age — it  may  be,  according  to  law; 
and,  if  so,  they  must  have  come  from  a  Power  out  of  and  bevond 
the  star  dust— from  a  Power  possessed  of  reason  and  affection.    I 


know  not  that  science  can  determine  absolutely  which  of  these 
alternatives  it  should  take.  But  take  either;  and,  on  the  princi- 
ple of  effect  implying  cause,  the  mind  must  rise  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  a  Being  who  must  himself  be  possessed  of  intelligence,  in 
order  to  impart  intelligence.^ 

Kepler  relates  that  one  day,  when  he  had  long  meditated  on  , 
atoms  and  their  combinations,  he  was  called  to  dinner  by  his  wife, 
who  laid  a  salad  on  the  table.    "Dost  thou  think,''  said  he  to  her, 
"that  if,  from  the  creation,  plates  of  tin,  leaves  of  lettuce,  grains 
of  salt,  drops  of  oil  and  vinegar,  and  fragments  of  hard-boiled 
eo-o-s,  were  floating  in  space  in  all  directions  and  without  order, 
chance  could  assemble  them  to-day  to  form  a  salad?"     "Cer- 
tainly not  so  good  a  one,''  replied  his  fair  spouse,  "  nor  so  well 
seasoned  as  this."     (Claude  Bertrand,  "Les  Fondateurs  de  I'As- 
tronomie  moderne,"  p.  154 )     In  Baron  d'Holbach's  parlor,  in  a 
company  of  atheists,  the  witty  Abbd  Galiani  said:  "I  will  sup- 
pose, gentlemen,  that  he  among  you  who  is  the  most  fully  con- 
vinced that  the  world  is    the  effect  of  chance  is  playing  with 
three  dice— I  do  not  say  in  a  gambling  house,  but  in  the  best 
house  in  Paris.     His  antagonist  throws  sixes  once,  twice,  thrice, 
four  times— in  a  word,  constantly.     However  short  the  duration 
of  the  game,  my  friend   Diderot,  thus  losing  his    money,   will 
unhesitatingly  say,   without  a   moment's  doubt,  'The  dice   are 
baded;    I    am    in    a   bad    house.'       What   then,    philosopher? 
Because  ten  or  a  dozen  throws  of  the  dice  have  emerged  from 
the  box  so  as  to  make  you  lose  six  francs,  you  believe  firmly  that 
this  is  in  consequence  of  an  adroit  manoeuvre,  an  artful  combina- 
tion, a  well-planned  roguery ;  but,  seeing  in  this  universe  so  pro- 
dio-ious    a    number    of  combinations,  thousands    of  times   more 

to 

difficult  and  complicated,  more  sustained  and  useful,  you  do  not 
suspect  that  the  dice  of  Nature  are  also  loaded,  and  that  there  is 


1  M'Cosh. 


24 


MAN   AND   1113   RELATIONS. 


above  them  a  great  rogue  wlio  takes  pleasure  in  catching  vou." 
In  a  corner  of  his  garden  a  Scotch  philosopher,  the  Beattie,  drew 
witli  his  finger  the  three  initial  letters  of  his  child's  name,  sowed 
the  furrows  with  cresses,  and  smoothed  the  earth.  The  child  was 
only  six  or  seven  years  of  age,  and  was  learning  to  read,  but  had 
been  taught  nothing  concerning  God.  ^' Ten  days  after,"  says 
Beattie,  "the  child  came  running  to  me  all  amazed,  and  told  me 
his  name  had  grown  in  the  garden.  I  smiled  at  these  words,  and 
appeared  not  to  attach  nmch  importance  to  what  he  had  said. 
But  he  insisted  on  taking  me  to  see  what  had  happened.  '  Yes/ 
said  I,  on  coming  to  the  place,  'I  see  well  enough  that  it  is  so; 
but  there  is  nothing  wonderful  in  this — it  is  a  mere  accident,' 
and  went  away.  But  he  followed  me,  and,  walking  at  my  side, 
said,  very  sericmsly :  '  That  can  not  be.  Some  one  must  have 
planted  the  seeds  to  make  the  letters.'  *  You  think,  then,  this  is 
not  the  result  of  chance?'  'Yes,'  said  the  boy,  firmly,  *  I  think 
8o.'  ^  Well,  then,  look  at  yourself;  consider  your  hands  and 
fingers,  your  legs  and  feet,  and  all  your  members.  Do  they  not 
seem  to  you  regular  in  their  appearance  and  useful  in  their 
service?  Can  they  be  the  result  of  chance?'  'No,'  was  the 
answer,  'some  one  must  have  made  them.'  'Who  is  that  some 
one?'  I  asked  him,  and  he  replied  that  he  did  not  know.  I  then 
made  known  to  him  the  name  of  the  great  Being  who  made  all 
the  world ;  and  the  lesson  was  never  forgotten,  nor  the  circum- 
stance which  led  to  it."^ 

Beauty. — As  a  countenance  is  made  beautiful  by  the  soul's 
shining  tlirough  it,  so  the  world  is  beautiful  by  the  shining 
through  it  of  God.^  "The  lilies  of  the  field,"  dressed  finer  than 
earthly  princes,  springing  up  there  in  the  humble  furrow-field,  a 
beautiful  eye  looking  out  on  you  from  the  great  inner  Saa  of 
Beauty.     How  could  the  rude  Earth  make  these,  if  her  Essence, 


1  JosepU  Cook, 


2  Jacobl. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


25 


ru<rged  as  she  looks  and  is,  were  not  inwardly  Beauty?  In  this 
point  of  view,  too,  a  saying  of  Goethe,  which  has  staggered 
several,  may  have  meaning:  "The  Beautiful,"  he  intimates,  "is 
higher  than  the  Good;  the  Beautiful  includes  in  it  the  Good."' 
Nature  is  sanitive,  refining,  elevating.  How  cunningly  she 
hides  cverv  wrinkle  of  her  inconceivable  antiquity  under  roses 
and  violets'  and  morning  dew!  Every  inch  of  the  mountains  is 
scarred  by  unimaginable  convulsions,  yet  the  new  day  is  purple 
with  the  bloom  of  youth  and  love' 

I  see  the  spectacle  of  morning  from  the  hill-top  over  against 
my  house,  from  daybreak  to  sunrise,  with    emotions  which  an 
an<rel  might  share.     The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float  like 
fishes  in  the  sea  of  crimson  light.     From  the  earth,  as  a  shore,  I 
look  out  into  that  silent  sea.    I  seem  to  partake  its  rapid  trans- 
formations :  the  active  enchantment  reaches  my  dust,  and  I  dilate 
and  conspire  with  the  morning  wind.    How  Nature  does  deify  us 
with  a  few  and  cheap  elements!     Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and 
I  will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous.     The  dawn  is  my 
Assyria  •  the  sunset  and  moonrise  my  Paphos,  and  unimaginable 
realms  of  faerie;  broad  noon  shall  be  my  England  of  the  senses 
and   the   understanding;   the  night   shall  be   my  Germany  of 
mystic  philosophy  and  dreams.     Not  less  excellent,  except  for 
our   less   susceptibility  in   the   afternoon,  was   the    charm,  last 
evening,  of  a  January  sunset.     The  western  clouds  divided  and 
subdivided  themselves  into  pink  flakes,  modulated  with  tints  of 
unspeakable  softness ;  and  the  air  had  so  much  life  and  sweetnes8 
that  it  was  a  pain  to  come  within  doors.    What  was  it  that  Nature 
would  say?    Was  there  no  meaning  in  the  live  repose  of  the 
valley  behind  the  mill,  and  which  Homer  or  Shakespeare  could 
not  reform  for  me  in  words?    The  leafless  trees  become  spires  of 
flame  in  the  sunset,  with  the  blue  east  for  their  background,  and 


'    tl 


1  Carlylc. 


2  Emerson. 


•  ! 
I 


26 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


27 


the  stars  of  the  dead  calices  of  flowers,  and  everv  withered  stem 
and  stubble  rimed  with  frost,  contribute  something  to  the  mute 
music. 

The  inhabitants  of  cities  suppose  that  the  country  landscape  is 
pleasant  only  half  the  year.     I  please  myself  with  the  graces  of 
the  winter  scenery,  and  believe  that  we  are  as  much  touched  by 
it  as  by  the  genial  influences  of  summer.     To  the  attentive  eye, 
each  moment  of  the  year  has  its  own  beauty,  and,  in  the  same 
field,  it  beholds,  every  hour,  a  picture  which  was    never  seen 
before,  and   which    shall   never   be   seen    again.     The   heavens 
change  every  moment,  and  reflect  their  glory  or  gloom  on  the 
plains  beneath.     The  state  of  the  crop  in  the  surrounding  farms 
alters  the  expression  of  the  earth  from  week  to  week.     The  suc- 
cession of  native   plants   in   the  pastures  and  roadsides,  Avhich 
makes  the  silent  clock  by  which  time  tells  the  summer  hours, 
will    make   even    the   divisions  of  the    day  sensible  to  a  keen 
observer.     The   tribes  of   birds   and    insects,    like  the    plants, 
punctual  to  their  time,  follow  each  other,  and  the  vear  has  room 
for  all.     By  water-courses,  the  variety  is  greater.     In  July,  the 
blue  pontederia,  or  pickerel-weed,  blooms  in  large  beds  in  the 
shallow   parts  of  our  pleasant   river,    and  swarms   with  yellow 
butterflies  in  continual  motion.     Art  can  not  rival  this  pomp  of 
purple   and   gold.     Indeed,  the  river  is  a  perpetual  gala,  and 
boasts  each  month  a  new  ornament.     But  this  beauty  of  Nature, 
which  is  seen  and  felt  as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.     The  shows  of 
day,  the   dewy  morning,  the   rainbow,  mountains,   orchards  in 
bloom,  stars,  moonlight,  shadows  in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if 
too  eagerly  hunted,  become  shows  merely,  and  mock  us  with 
their  unreality.     Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the  moon,  and  'tis 
mere  tinsel ;  it  will  not  please  as  when  its  light  shines  upon  your 
necessary  journey.     The   beauty  that   shimmers  iu  the  yellow 


afternoon  of  October — who  ever  could  clutch  it?  Go  forth  to 
find  it,  and  it  is  gone:  'tis  only  a  mirage  as  you  look  from  the 
window^s  of  diligence.^ 

When  storms  lower  and  wintry  winds  oppress  thee.  Nature, 
dear  goddess,  is  beautiful,  always  beautiful !  Every  little  flake 
of  snow  is  such  a  perfect  crystal,  and  they  fall  together  so  grace- 
fully, as  if  fairies  of  the  air  caught  water-drops  and  made  them 
into  artificial  flowers  to  garland  the  wings  of  the  wind.^ 

AYhat  profusion  is  there  in  His  work !  When  trees  blossom 
there  is  not  a  single  breastpin,  but  a  whole  bosomful  of  gems; 
and  of  leaves  they  havo  so  many  suits  that  they  can  throw  away 
to  the  winds  all  summer  long.  What  unnumbered  cathedrals 
has  He  reared  in  the  forest  shades,  vast  and  grand,  full  of  curious 
carvings,  and  haunted  evermore  by  tremulous  music  ;  and  in  the 
heavens  above,  how  stars  seem  to  have  flown  out  of  His  hand 
faster  than  sparks  out  of  a  mighty  forge  !^ 

It  is  a  strange  thing  how  little  in  general  people  know  about 
the  sky.  It  is  the  part  of  creation  in  w^hich  Nature  has  done 
more  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  man,  more  for  the  sole  and  evident 
purpose  of  talking  to  him  and  teaching  him,  than  in  any  other 
of  her  works,  and  it  is  just  the  part  in  which  w^e  least  attend  to 
her.  There  are  not  many  of  her  other  works  in  which  some 
more  material  or  essential  purpose  than  the  mere  pleasing  of  man 
is  not  answered  by  every  part  of  their  organization ;  but  every 
essential  purpose  of  the  sky  might,  so  far  as  we  know,  be  an- 
swered, if  once  in  three  days,  or  thereabouts,  a  great  ugly  black 
rain-cloud  were  brought  up  over  the  blue,  and  everything  well 
w^atered,  and  so  all  left  blue  again  till  next  time,  with  perhaps  a 
film  of  morning  and  evening  mist  for  dew.  And,  instead  of  this, 
there  is  not  a  moment  of  any  day  of  our  lives  when  Nature  is  not 
producing  scene  after  scene,  picture    after   picture,  glory    after 


ilbid. 


2  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child. 


8  Beecher. 


28 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIvONS, 


glory,  and  working  still  upon  such  exquisite  and  constant  princi- 
ples'of  the  most  perfect  beauty,  that  it  is  quite  certain  it  is  all 
done  for  us,  and  intended  for  our  perpetual  pleasure.     And  every 
man,  wherever  i)laced,  however  far  from  other  sources  of  interest 
or  of  beauty,  has  this  doing  for  him  constantly.     The   noblest 
scenes  of  the  earth  can  be  seen  and  known  but  by  few  ;  it  is  not 
intended  that  man  should  live  always  in  the  midst  of  them;  he 
injures  them  by  his  presence ;  he  ceases  to  feel  them  if  he  be 
always  with  thfMu.     But  the  sky  is  for  all ;  bright  as  it  is,  it  is 
not  "  too  bright  nor  good  for  human  nature's  daily  food  ;"  it  is 
fitted  in  all  its  functions  for  the  perpetual  comfort  and  exalting 
of  the  heart,  for  the  soothing  it  and  purifying  it  from  its  dross 
and    dust— sometimes    gentle,    sometimes   capricious,   sometimes 
awful,  never  the  same  for  two  moments  together;  almost  human 
in  its  passions,  almost  spiritual  in  its  tenderness,  almost  divine  in 
its  infinity,  its  appeal  to  what  is  immortal  in  us  is  as  distinct  as 
its  ministry  of  chastisement  or  of  blessing  to  what  is  mortal  is 
essential.     And  yet  wo  never  attend  to  it,  we  never  make  it  a 
subject  of  thought,  hut  as  it  has  to  do  with  our  animal  sensa- 
tions;  we  look  upon  all  by  which  it  speaks  to  us  more  clearly 
than  to  brutes,  upon  all  which  bears  witness  to  the  intention  of 
the  Supreme,  that  we  are  to  receive  more  from  the  covering  vault 
than  the  light  and  the  dew  which  we  share  with  the  weed  and 
the  worm,  only  as  a  succession  of  meaningless  and  monotonous 
accident,  too  common  and  too  vain  to  be  worthy  of  a  moment  of 
watchfulness,  or  a  glance  of  admiration.     If,  in  our  moments  of 
utter  idleness  and  insipidity,  we  turn  to  the  sky  as  a  last  resource, 
which  of  its  phenomena  do  we  speak  of?     One  says  it  has  been 
wet,  and  another  it  has  been  windy,  and  another  it  has  been 
warm.     Who,  among  the  whole  chattering  crowd,  can  teil  me  of 
the  forms  and  the  precipices  of  the  chain  of  tall  white  mountains 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


29 


that    girded  the    horizon   at   noon   yesterday?    Who   saw  the 
narrow  sunbeam  that  came  out  of  the  south,  and  smote  upon 
their  summits  until  they  melted  and  moldered  away  in  a  dust  of 
blue  rain?    Who  saw  the  dance  of  the  dead  clouds  when  the 
sunlight  left  them   last   night,  and  the  west  wind   blew  them 
before  it  like  withered  leaves?    All  has  passed,  unregrettcd  as 
unseen ;  or  if  the  apathy  1)2  ever  shaken  off,  ever  for  an  instant,  it 
is  only  by  what  is  gross  or  what  is  extraordinary;  and  yet  it  is 
not   in   the   broad   and   fierce    manifestations  of  the   elemental 
energies,  not  in  the  dash  of  the  hail,  nor  the  drift  of  the  whirl- 
wind, that  the  highest  characters  of  the  sublime  are  developed. 
God  is  not  in  the  earthquake,  nor  in  the  fire,  but  in  the  still, 
small  voice.     They  are  but  the  blunt  and  the  low  faculties  of  our 
nature,  which   can   only  be  addressed  through   lampblack  and 
li,rhtning.     It  is  in  quiet  and  subdued  passages  of  unobtrusive 
nKijesty,"the  deep,  and  the  calm,  and  the  perpetual-that  which 
must  be  sought  ere  it  is  seen,  and  loved  ere  it  is  understood- 
things  which  the  angels  work  out  for  us  daily,  and   yet  vary 
eternally,  which  are  never  wanting,  and  never  repeated,  which 
are  to  be  found  always,  yet  each  found  but  once;  it  is  through 
these  that  the  lesson  of  devotion  is  chiefly  taught,  and  the  bless- 
ing of  beauty  given.' 

Again,  the  Greek  delighted  in  the  grass  for  its  usefulness ; 
the  mediaeval,  as  also  we  moderns,  for  its  color  and  beauty. 
But  both  dwell  on  it  as  the  first  element  of  the  lovely  landscape; 
we  saw  its  use  in  Homer;  we  sse,  also,  that  Dante  thinks  the 
righteous  spirits  of  the  heathen  enough  comforted  in  Hades  by 
hrving  even  the  imaje  of  green  grass  put  beneath  their  feet;  the 
happ/resting-place  in  Purgatory  has  no  other  delight  than  its 
grass  and  flowers;  and,  finally,  in  the  terrestrial  paradise,  the 
feet  of  Matilda  pause  where  the  Lethe  stream  first  bends  the 

1  Huflkiii. 


30 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


1: 


blades  of  grass.  Consider  a  little  what  a  depth  there  is  in  this 
great  instinct  of  tho  Imnian  race.  Gather  a  single  blade  of  grass, 
and  examine  for  a  minute,  quietly,  its  narrow,  sword-shaped  strip 
of  fluted  green.  Nothing,  as  it  seems  there,  of  notable  g();)diiess 
or  beauty.  A  very  little  strength,  and  a  very  little  tallness,  and 
a  few  delicate  long  lines  meeting  in  a  point — not  a  perfect  point 
either,  but  blunt  and  nnfiuished,  by  no  means  a  creditable  or 
apparently  much  cared  for  example  of  Nature's  workmanship, 
made,  as  it  seems,  only  to  be  trodden  on  to-dav,  and  to-morrow  to 
be  cast  into  the  oven — and  a  little  pale  and  hollow  stalk,  feeble 
and  flaccid,  leadins:  down  to  the  dull  brown  fibers"  of  roots.  And 
yet,  think  of  it  well,  and  judge  whether  of  all  the  gorgeous 
flow^ers  that  beam  in  summer  air,  and  of  all  strong  and  goodly 
trees,  pleasant  to  the  e\'es  and  good  for  food — stately  palm  and 
pine,  strong  ash  and  oak,  scented  citron,  burdened  vine — there 
be  any  by  man  so  deeply  loved,  by  God  so  highly  graced,  as  that 
narrow  point  of  feeble  green.  It  seems  to  me  not  to  have  been 
without  a  peculiar  significance,  that  our  Lord,  when  about  to 
work  the  miracle  which,  of  all  that  He  showed,  a})pears  to  have 
been  felt  by  the  multitude  as  the  most  impressive — the  miracle 
of  the  loaves — commanded  the  i)eople  to  sit  down  by  companies 
"upon  the  green  grass."  He  was  about  to  feed  them  with  the 
principal  produce  of  earth  and  the  sea,  the  simplest  representa- 
tions of  the  food  of  mankind.  He  gave  them  the  seed  of  the 
herb;  He  bade  them  sit  down  upon  the  herb  itself,  which  was  as 
great  a  gift,  in  its  fitness  for  their  joy  and  rest,  as  its  perfect  fruit, 
for  their  sustenance;  thus,  in  this  single  order  and  act,  when 
rightly  understood,  indicatins:  for  evermore  how  the  Creator  had 
intrusted  the  comfort,  consolation,  and  sustenance  of  man,  to  the 
simplest  and  most  despised  of  all  the  leafy  families  of  the  earth. 
And  well    does  it  fulfill    its    mission.     Consider  what  we    owe 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


31 


merely  to  the  meadow  grass,  to  the  covering  of  the  dark  ground 
by  that  glorious    enamel,  by  the  companies  of  those  soft,  and 
countless,  and  peaceful  spears.     The  Fields!     Follow  but  forth 
for  a  little  time  the  thoughts  of  all  that  we  ought  to  recognize  in 
those  words.     All  spring  and  summer  is  in  them — the  walks  by 
silent,  scented  paths;  the  rests  in  noonday  lieat;  the  joy  of  herds 
and  flocks ;  the  power  of  all  shepherd  life  and  meditation ;  the  life 
of  sunlight  upon  the  world,  falling  in  emerald  streaks,  and  falling 
in  soft  blue  shadows,  where  else  it  would  have  struck  upon  the 
dark    mould,    or    scorching    dust;    pastures    beside    the    pacing 
brooks;  soft  banks  and  knolls  of  lowly  hills;  thymy  slopes  of 
down  overlooked  by  the  blue  line  of  lifted  sea ;  crisp  lawns  all 
dim  with  early  dew,  or  smooth  in  evening  warmth  of  barred  sun- 
shine,  dinted  by  happy  feet,  and  softening  in  their  fall  the  sound 
of  lovin<''  voices — all  these  are  summed  in  those  simple  WT)rds; 
and  these  are  not  all.     We  may  not  measure  to  the  full  the  depth 
of  this  heavenly  gift  in  our  land;  though  still,  as  we  think  of  it 
longer,  the    infinite   of  that    meadow    sweetness,    Shakespeare's 
peculiar  joy,  would  open  on  us  more  and  more,  yet  we  have  it 
but  in  part.     Go  out,  in  the  spring-time,  among  the  meadows 
that  slope  from  the  shores  of  the  Swiss  lakes,  to  the  roots  of  their 
lower  mountains.     There,  mingled  with  the  taller  gentians  and 
the  white  narcissus,  the  grass  gro^vs  deep  and  free ;  and  as  you 
follow  the  winding  mountain  paths,  beneath  arching  boughs  all 
veiled  and  dim  with    blossoms— paths    that   forever  droop  and 
rise  over  the  green  banks  and  mounds  sweeping  down  in  scented 
undulation,  steep  to  the  blue  water,  studded  here  and  there  with 
new-mown  heaps,  filling  all  the  air  with  fainter  sweetness— look 
up  toward  the  higher  hills,  where  the  waves  of  everlasting  green 
roll  silently  into  their  long  inlets  among    the   shadows  of   the 
pines,  and  we  may,  perhaps,  at  last  know  the  meaning  of  those 


".  v. 


V 


■ 


\ 


32 


MAN   AND  HIS  HELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


33 


quiet  words  of  the  147th  Psalm,  "He  raaketli  grass  to  grow 
upon  the  mountains."  ^ 

Beauty  is  an  all-prevailing  presence.  It  unfolds  to  the  num- 
berless flowers  of  the  spring;  it  waves  in  the  branches  of  the 
trees  and  the  green  blades  of  grass;  it  haunts  the  depths  of  the 
earth  and  the  sea,  and  gleams  out  in  the  hues  of  the  shell  and  the 
precious  stone.  And  not  only  these  minute  objects,  but  the 
ocean,  the  mountains,  the  clouds,  the  heavens,  the  stars,  the 
rising  and  setting  sun,  all  overflow  with  beauty.  The  universe 
is  its  temple ;  and  those  men  who  are  alive  to  it  can  not  lift  their 
eyes  without  feeling  themselves  encompassed  with  it  on  every 
side.  Now,  this  beauty  is  so  precious,  the  enjoyments  it  gives  are 
so  refined  and  pure,  so  congenial  with  our  tenderest  and  noblest 
feelings,  and  so  akin  to  worship,  that  it  is  painful  to  think  of  the 
multitude  of  men  as  living  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  living  almost 
as  blind  to  it  as  if,  instead  of  this  fair  earth  and  glorious  sky, 
they  were  tenants  of  a  dungeon.  An  infinite  joy  is  lost  to  the 
world  by  the  want  of  culture  of  this  spiritual  endowment.  The 
greatest  truths  are  wronged  if  not  linked  with  beauty,  and  they 
win  their  way  most  surely  and  deeply  into  the  soul  when  arrayed 
in  this  their  natural  and  fit  attire.^ 

Pantheism  has  perhaps  never  been  altogether  a  stranger  to 
the  world.  The  view  which  makes  all  things  God,  and  God  all 
things,  seems  at  first  congenial  to  a  poetic  and  religious  mind.  The 
All  of  things  appears  so  beautiful  to  the  comprehensive  eye  that 
we  almost  think  it  is  its  own  Cause  and  Creator.  The  animals  find 
their  support  and  their  pleasure;  the  painted  leopard  and  the 
snowy  swan  each  living  by  its  own  law;  the  bird  of  passage,  that 
pursues  from  zone  to  zone  its  unmarked  path ;  the  summer 
warbler,  which  sings  out  its  melodious  existence  in  the  wood- 
bine;   the  flowers  that  come   unasked,   charming  the   youthful 


» Ibid. 


« Channing. 


year;  the  golden  fruit  maturing  in  its  wilderness  of  green;  the 
dew  and  the  rainbow;  the  frost-fluke  and  the  mountain  snow; 
the  glories  that  wait  upon  the  morning,  or  sing  the  sun  to  his 
ambrosial  rest;  the  ponip  of  the  sun  at  noon,  amid  the  clouds 
of  a  June  day;  the  awful  majesty  of  night,  when  all  the  stars 
come  out  with  serene  step  and  tread  their  rounds,  seeming  to 
watch,  in  blest  tranquillity,  the  slumbering  world  ;  the  moon  wax- 
ing and  waning,  walking  in  beauty  through  the  night;  the 
waters  roughened  by  winds,  which  come  or  abide  at  no  man's 
bidding,  rolling  the  yellow  corn  and  making  religious  music  in 
the  pines — all  these  things  are  so  fair,  so  wondrous,  so  wrapt  in 
mvsterv,  it  is  no  marvel  men  say,  This  is  Divine !     Yes,  the  All 

\ 

is  God.  He  is  the  X\sA\i  of  the  morninir,  the  beauty  of  the  moon, 
the  strength  of  the  sun.  The  little  grass  grows  by  His  presence. 
He  preserveth  the  cedars.  The  lilies  are  redolent  of  God.  God 
is  the  mind  of  man.  He  is  the  Soul  of  All.  The  universe, 
broad,  and  deep,  and  high,  is  a  handful  of  dust  which  God 
enchants.  He  is  the  mysterious  magic  which  possesses  the 
Avorld.^ 

Adaptation. — Man  appears  in  a  state  of  things  suited  to  him, 
and  evidently  prepared  for  him,  in  plants  and  animals  ready  to 
aflbrd  him  food  and  clothing,  and  shelter  and  defense,  and  also  to 
gratify  and  to  educate  liis  sense  of  beauty.  Often  have  I  heard 
my  lamented  friend,  Hugh  Miller,  fondly  dilating  on  this  last 
sulject.  "They  tell  that  man's  world,  with  all  its  griefs  and 
troubles,  is  more  emphatically  a  world  of  flowers  than  any  of 
the  creations  that  preceded  it;  and  that  as  one  great  family,  the 
Grasses,  was  called  into  existence,  in  order,  apparently,  that  he 
might  enter,  in  favoring  circumstances,  upon  his  two  earliest  avo- 
cations, and  be  in  good  hope  a  keeper  of  herds  and  a  tiller  of  the 

grounds,    and  as  another  family   of  plants,  the    Rosacese,  was 

4 

1  Theodore  Parker. 


1 


i 


;l 


34 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


35 


created,  in  order  that  the  gardens,  whieh  it  woukl  be  also  one 
of  his  vocations  to  keep  and  to  dress,  should  have  their  trees 
'good  for  food  and  pleasant  to  the  taste,'  so  flowers  in  general 
Avere  properly  produced  just  ere  he  appeared,  to  minister  to  the 
tense  of  beauty  which  distinguishes  him  from  all  other  creatures, 
and  to  Avhich  he  owes  not  a  few  of  his  most  exqui.site  enjoy- 
ments."    It  docs  not  appear  as  if  the  surrounding  circumstances 
could  have  produced  man,  or  that  man  could  have  produced  the 
surrounding  circumstances.     .     .     .     When  human  beings  come 
on  the  field,  a  new  era  commences,   even  in   Natural  History. 
The  commission  to  them  was:  ''Be  frultfal  and  multi- 
ply, and  replenish  the  earth,  and  subdue  it,  and  have  dominion 
over  the  fi.sh  of  the  sea,  and  oVer  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  over 
everv  livino-  thin-'*  that  m oveth  upon  the  earth.''     Henceforth  he 
acts  on  natural  agents  to  modify  and  improve  J:hem,  causing  the 
earth  to  wave  Avith  grain  and  with  fruits,  and  substituting  sheep 
and  kine  and  horses  for  wild  and  destructive  animals. 

And  as  ages  roll  on,  there  is  doubtless  a  progression  in  human 
nature.  The  intellectual  comes  to  rule  the  physical  and  the 
moral  claims  to  subordinate  both.  It  is  no  longer  strength  of 
body  that  prevails,  but  strength  of  mind  :  while  the  law  of  God 
proclaims  itself  superior  to  both.  There  is  still  a  Law  of  Natural 
Selection  ;  but,  under  the  new  dispensation,  the  strong  has  met 
with  a  still  stronger  ;  and  right,  which  is  the  strongest,  would 
regulate  both  the  strong  body  and  the  stronger  mind.  It  may 
still  be  that  the  strongest,  the  fittest,  are  to  prevail ;  but  it  is 
becoming  evident  that  the  strongest  and  the  fittesi:  are  not  phys- 
ical, or  even  intellectual  strength,  but  the  moral  forces.^ 

Eyes  are  found  in  light;  ears  in  auricular  air;  feet  on  land; 
fins  in  water;  wings  in  air;  and  each  creature  where  it  was 
meant  to  be,  with  a  mutual  fitness.     Every  zone  has  its  own 


I  t 


Fauna.  There  is  adjustment  between  the  animal  and  its  food,  its 
parasite,  its  enemy.  Balances  are  kept.  It  is  not  allowed  to 
diminish  in  numbers,  nor  to  exceed.  The  like  adjustments  exist 
for  man.  His  food  is  cooked,  when  he  arrives;  his  coal  in  the 
pit;  the  house  ventilated;  the  mud  of  the  deluge  dried;  his  com- 
panions arrived  at  the  same  hour,  and  awaiting  him  with  love, 
concert,  laughter,  and  tears.  These  are  coarse  adjustments,  but 
the  invisible  are  not  less.  There  are  more  belongrino-s  to  everv 
creature  than  his  air  and  his  food.  His  instincts  must  be  met, 
and  he  has  predisposing  power  that  bends  and  fits  what  is  near 
him  to  his  use*  He  is  not  possible  until  the  invisible  things  arc 
right  for  him,  as  well  as  the  visible.  Of  what  changes,  then,  in 
sky  and  earth,  and-  in  finer  skies  and  earths,  does  the  appearances 
of  some  Dante  or  Columbus  apprise  us?^ 

The  misery  of  man  appears  like  childish  petulance,  when  we 
explore  the  steady  and  prodigal  provision  that  has  been  made 
for  his  support  and  delight  on  this  green  ball  which  floats  him 
through  the  heavens.  What  angels  invented  these  splendid 
ornaments,  these  rich  conveniences,  this  ocean  of  air  above,  this 
ocean  of  Avater  beneath,  this  firmament  of  earth  between,  this 
zodiac  of  lights,  this  tent  of  dropping  clouds,  this  striped  coat  of 
climates,  this  fourfold  year?  Beasts,  fire,  w^ater,  stones,  and  corn 
serve  him.  The  field  is  at  once  his  floor,  his  work-yard,  his 
play-ground,  his  garden,  and  his  bed. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of." 

Nature,  in  its  ministry  to  man,  is  not  only  the  material,  but  is 
also  the  process  and  the  result.  All  the  parts  incessantly  work 
into  each  other's  hands  for  the  profit  of  man.  The  wind  sows 
the  seed;  the  sun  evaporates  the  sea;  the  wind  blows  the  vapor 


I 


•iMcCosh. 


1  Emerson. 


'/ 


4 

I 

tJ  ■  • 


i    • 
I  ■ 


y 


I 


36 


MAN  AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


to  the  field ;  the  ice,  on  the  other  side  of  the  planet,  condenses 
rain  on  this;  the  rain  feeds  the  plant;  the  plant  feeds  the  animal; 
and  thus  the  endless  circulations  of  the   divine  charity  nourish 
man.    The  useful  arts  are  reproductions,  or  new  combinations, 
by  the  wit  of  man,  of  the    same  natural   benefactors.     He  no 
longer   waits   for   favoring   gale^^,    but   by   means  of  steam    he 
realizes  the  fable  of  iEolus's  bag,  and  carries  the  two-and^thirty 
winds  in  the  boiler  of  his  boat.     To  diminish  friction,  he  paves 
the  road  with  iron  bars,  and,  mounting  a  coach,  with  a  ship-load 
of  men,  of  animals,  and    merchandise,  behind    him,   he   darts 
through   the   country  from    town  to  town,  like   an   eagle  or  a 
swallow  through  the  air.     By  the  aggregate  of  these  aids,  how  is 
the  face  of  the  world  changed,  from  the  era  of  Noah  to  that  of 
Napoleon!     The   private   poor   man    hath    cities,  ships,  canals, 
bridges,  built   for   him.     He    goes   to   the    post-office,   and  the 
human   race  run   on  his   errands;    to    the   book-shop,  and   the 
human  race  read  and  write  of  all  that  happens  for  him;  to  the 
court-house,  and  nations  repair  his  wrongs.     He  sets  his  house 
upon  the  road,  and  the  human  race  go  forth  every  morning  and 
shovel  out  the  snow,  and  cut  a  path  for  him.^ 

Consider  the  structure  and  composition  of  the  earth's  crust  In 
connection  with  the  call  of  man  to  be  a  great  artificer.  If  the 
strata  of  the  globe  had  been  laid  even,  and  in  the  order  of  their 
heaviness,  and  if  the  metals  had  been  made  by  Providence  in 
pure  masses,  unmixed  with  ore,  as  coal  is,  or  granite,  the  possi- 
bility of  almost  all  the  arts  would  have  been  annulled.  But  the 
comparative  lawlessness  of  the  distribution  of  the  strata,  the 
intermixing  of  material  by  convulsions  and  earthquakes,  the 
creation  of  metals  in  the  ore  state  so  that  they  can  be  broken, 
handled,  and  artificially  fused  into  masses  compact  and  pure, 
place   the   globe  at  man's  dijjposal,  instead  of  making  him  its 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


37 


slave.  The  study  of  iron,  coal,  and  granite,  as  related  to  civiliza- 
tion, and  to  their  places  in  the  earth^s  crust,  opens  one  of  the 
deepest,  richest,  and  most  mystic  volumes  that  embody  the 
beneficence  of  Providence.  No  man  can  help  standing  with 
uncovered  soul  before  the  organization  and  interests  of  labor, 
uho  becomes  acquainted  with  the  provisions,  ages  on  ages  before 
the  advent  of  man,  for  the  supply  to  the  future  workshops  on  the 
globe  of  coal  and  iron.  The  old  forests  of  buried  geological 
epochs,  which  grew  when  no  human  being  could  have  breathed 
the  planet's  air;  the  play  and  fury  of  the  central  fires  that  seem, 
in  a  narrow  view,  only  disastrous,  and  the  lawlessness  of  the 
strata  of  the  globe,  which  might  be  easily  conceived  the  freak  of 
chance,  turn  out  eloquent  witnesses  of  the  presidency  over  all 
ages  of  a  plan  which  contemplated  man  as  the  master-workman 

of  the  future.^ 

What  infinite  wonderfulness  there  Is  in  this  vegetation,  con- 
sidered, as  indeed  it  Is,  as  the  means  by  which  the  earth  becomes 
the  companion  of  man— his  friend  and  his  teacher !  In  the  con- 
ditions which  we  have  traced  in  Its  rocks,  there  could  only  be 
seen  preparation  for  his  existence — the  characters  which  enable 
him  to  live  on  it  safely,  and  to  work  with  it  easily— in  all  these 
it  has  been  Inanimate  and  passive  ;  but  vegetation  is  to  it  as  an 
imperfect  soul,  given  to  meet  the  soul  of  man.  The  earth  in  its 
depths  must  remain  dead  and  cold.  Incapable  except  of  slow 
crystalline  change ;  but  at  its  surface,  which  human  beings  look 
upon  and  deal  Avith,  it  ministers  to  them  through  a  veil  of 
strange  intermediate  being,  which  breathes,  but  has  no  voice; 
moves,  but  can  not  leave  Its  appointed  place;  passes  through  life 
without  consciousness,  t§  death  without  bitterness;  wears  the 
beauty  of  youth,  without  its  passion,  and  declines  to  the  weak- 
ness of  age,  without  its  regret.     And  in  this  mystery  of  inter- 


Ubid. 


1  Thomas  Starr  King. 


•if 

,1 


it 
* 


'Mi 


8*1^  f- 


*■ 


it:.i 


38 


MAN    AND    ni3    RELATIONS. 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


39 


mediate  being,  entirely  subordinate  to  us,  with  wl.ich  ^ve  can 
deal  as  we  choose,  having  just  the  greater  power  as  we  have,  the 
less  responsibility  for  our  treatment  of  the  unsuffering  creature, 
most  of  the  pleasures  which  we  need  from  the  external  world  are 
..athered,  and  most  of  the  lessons  we  need  are  writtcn-all  kinds 
of  precious  grace  and  teaching  being  united  in  this  link  between 
the  Earth  and  Man  :  wonderful  in  universal  adaptation  to  his 
need,  desire,  and  discipline;  God's  daily  preparation  of  the  earth 
for  him,  with  beautiful  means  of  life.     First,  a  carpet  to  make  it 
soft  for  him;  then,  a  colored  fantasy   of  embroidery  thereon; 
then,  tall  spreading  of  foliage  to  shade  him  from  sun-heat,  and 
shade  also  the  fallen  rain,  that  it  may  not  dry  quickly  back  into 
the  clouds,  but  stay  to  nourish   the  springs  among  the   moss. 
Stout  wood  to  bear  this  leafage  :  easily  to  be  cut,  yet  tough  and 
light,  to   make   houses  for  him,  or  instruments  (lance-shaft,  or 
pfow-handle,  according  to  his  temper)  ;  useless  it  had  been,  if 
harder;  useless,  if  less  fibrous;  useless,  if  less  elastic.     Winter 
comes,  and  the  shade  of  leafage  falls  away,  to  let  the  sun  warm 
the  earth  ;  the  strong  boughs  remain,  breaking  the  strength  of 
winter  winds.      The  seeds  which  are  to  prolong  the  race,  in- 
numerable according  to  the  need,  are  made  beautiful  and  palatable, 
varied  into  infinitude  of  appeal  to  the  fancy  of  man,  or  provision 
for  his  service  :  cold  juice,  or  glowing  spice,  or  balm,  or  incense, 
softening  oil,  preserving  resin,  medicine  of  styptic,  febrifuge,  or 
lulling  charm ;    and  all  these    presented    in    forms    of  endless 
change.     Fragility  or  force,  softness,  and  strength,  in  all  degrees 
and   aspects;    unerring    uprightness,    as   of  temple   pillars;    or 
undivided  wandering  of  feebb  tendrils  on  the  ground;  mighty 
resistances  of  rigid  arm  and  limb  to  th3,^torm  of  ages,  or  wavings 
to.  and  fro  with  faintest  pulse  of  summer  streamlet ;  roots  cleav- 
ing the  strength  of  rock,  or  binding  the  transience  of  the  sand ; 


crests  basking  in  sunshine  of  the  desert,  or  hiding  by  dripping 
spring  and  lightless  cave;  foliage  far  tossing  in  entangled  fields 
beneath  every  wave  of  ocean— clothing  with  variegated,  ever- 
lasting films  the  peaks  of  the  trackless  mountains,  or  ministering 
at  cottage  doors  ta  every  gentlest  passion  and  simplest  joy  of 

humanity.' 

This  natural  world  is  "a  cupboard  of  food  and  a  cabinet  of 
pleasure,"  as  an  old  poet  quaintly  puts  it.     All  sorts  of  things 
are  therein  stored  up  for  present  or  future  use.     On  the  lower 
shelves,  which  the  savage  man  can  reach  to,  there  are  the  rudest 
thiivrs— acorns,  roots,  nuts,  berries,  wild  apples,  fish,  and  flesh. 
Higher  up  there  are  corn,  salt,  wool,  cotton,  stones,  with  fire  to 
be  beaten  out  of  them  by  striking  them  together;  then  live  ani- 
mals of  various  sorts;  next,  metals—iron,  copper,  silver,  gold, 
and  the  like— all  ready  to  spring  into  man's  hand  and  serve  him, 
when  he  can  reach  up  to  them  and  take  them  down.     A  little 
further  up  there  are  things  to  adorn  the  body— ochre  to  paint  the 
cheeks,  feathers  to  trim  the  head,  rubies  and  diamonds,  and  many 
a  twisted  shell,  still  further  to  ornament  and  set  oif  the  world ; 
all  sorts  of  finery  for  the  Xootka  Sound  female  and  the  Parisian 
woman.     Sdll  higher  up  arc  laid  the  winds  to  grind  man's  corn, 
waters  to  sift  his   meal,  and    above  these  are  coals  waiting  to 
become  fire,  and  to  be  made  the  force  of  oxen,  winds,  rivers,  and 
men.     Yet  higher  up  lie  the  gases  which  are  to  light  a  city,  or 
take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound,  and  make  a  man  invulnerable 
and  invincible  to  pain.     Higher  still  are  things  which  no  man 
has  climbed  up  to  and  looked  on  as  yet.     There  they  lie,  shelf 
rising  above  shelf,  gallery  above  gallery,  and  the  ceiling  is  far 
out  of:  the  telescopic  sight  of  the  farthest-sighted  man.     A  short 
savage,   like   King  Philip,   of  Pokanoket,   looks  on  the   lower 
shelves  and  takes  what  he  wants— a  club,  a  chip  of  stone,  a  hand- 


1  Ruskiu. 


40 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


41 


lly 


ful  of  sea-shells,  a  deer-skin,  a  bit  of  flesh,  a  few  ears  of  corn— 
and  is  content  with  them,  and  thanks  God  for  the  world  he  lives 
in;  but  the  civilized  man,  who  has  grown  as  tall  as  Captain 
Ericsson,  reaches  higher,  and  takes  down  cattle  power,  wind 
power,  water  power,  steam  power,  lightning  power,  and  hands 
them  to  the  smaller  boys— to  us  who  have  not  yet  grown  up  to 
reach  so  high.  Some  of  the  tallest-minded  of  the  human  tribe 
stand  on  tip-toe  and  look  up  as  high  as  they  can  see,  and  then 
report  to  us  the  great  machinery  and  astronomical  wheel-work 
which  keeps  the  sun  and  moon  in  their  places,  or  report  of  the 
smaller  machinery,  the  nice  chemical  and  electrical  gearing  which 
holds  the  atoms  of  a  pebble  together,  and  whereby  the  great 
world  grows  grass  for  oxen  and  corn  for  men.  This  is  as  high 
as  any  mortal  man  has  got  as  yet ;  and  it  is  a  great  way  to  climb— 
from  an  acorn,  on  the  bottom  shelf,  up  to  the  celestial  mechanics, 
on  the  upper  shelf,  which  Newton  and  La  Place  are  only  tall 
enough  to  look  over  and  handle.^ 

Limitations. — The  life  of  individual  man  is  of  a  mixed 
nature.  In  part  he  submits  to  the  free-will  impulses  of  himself 
and  others;  in  part  he  is  under  the  inexorable  dominion  of  law. 
He  insensibly  changes  his  estimate  of  the  relative  power  of  each 
of  these  influences  as  he  passes  through  successive  stages.  In  the 
confidence  of  youth  he  imagines  that  very  much  is  under  his  con- 
trol ;  in  the  disappointment  of  old  age,  very  little.  As  time 
wears  on,  and  the  delusions  of  early  imagination  vanish  away,  he 
learns  to  correct  his  sanguine  views,  and  prescribes  a  narrower 
boundary  for  the  things  he  expects  to  obtain.  The  realities 
of  life  undeceive  him  at  last,  and  there  steals  over  the  even- 
ing of  his  days  an  unwelcome  conviction  of  the  vanity  of 
human  hopes.  The  things  he  has  secured  are  not  the  things 
he  expected.     He  sees  that  a  Supreme  Power  has  been  using 


If 


n 


him  for  unknown  ends;    that  he   was  brought  into   the  world 
without  his   own   knowledge,  and  is  departing  from   it  against 

his  own   will.^ 

Do  you  want  an  image  of  the  human  will,  or  the  self-determin- 
ing principle,  as  compared  with  its  pre-arranged  and  impaesable 
restrictions?  A  drop  of  water,  imprisoned  in  a  crystal ;  you  may 
see  such  a  one  i:i  any  mineralogical  collection.  One  little  fluid 
particle  in  the  crystalline  prism  of  the  solid  universe  !  .  .  . 
The  fluent,  self-determining  power  of  human  beings  is  a  very 
strictly  limited  agency  in  the  universe.  The  chief  plans  of  its 
inclosing  solid  are,  of  course,  organization,  education,  condition. 
Organization  may  reduce  the  power  of  the  will  to  nothing,  as 
in  some  idiots;  and  from  this  zero  the  scale  mounts  upward 
by  slight  gradations.  Education  is  only  second  to  nature. 
Imao-ine    all   the   infants  born  this  year  in  Boston   and   Tim- 

to 

buctoo  to  change  places !      Condition  does  less,  but  "  Give  me 
neither  poverty  nor  riches"  was  the  prayer  of  Agur,  and  with 

good  reason.^ 

The  soil  on  which  a  people  dwell,  the  air  they  breathe,  the 
mountains  and  seas  by  which  they  are  surrounded,  the  skies  that 
overshadow  them— all  these  exert  a  powerful  influence  on  their 
pursuits,  their  habits,  their  institutions,  their  sentiments,  and 
their  ideas.  So  that,  could  we  clearly  group,  and  fully  grasp,  all 
the  characteristics  of  a  region— its  position,  configuration,  climate, 
scenery,  and  natural  products— we  could,  with  tolerable  accuracy, 
determine  what  are  the  characteristics  of  the  people  who  inhabit 
it.  A  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  physical  geography  of 
any  country  will  therefore  aid  us  materially  in  elucidating  the 
natural  history,  and,  to  some  extent,  the  moral  history  of  its 
population.  "History,"  says  Ritter,  "does  not  stand  outside  of 
nature,  but  in  her  very  heart,  so  that  the  historian  only  grasps  a 


1  Theodore  Parker. 


Draper. 


2  0.  W.  Holmes. 


^ 


42 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


"Sc  ■ 


people's  character  ^vlth  true  precision,  when  he  keeps  in  full  view 
its  geographical  position,  and  the  influences  which  its  surround- 
ings have  wrought  upon  it.''  * 

It  is,  however,  of  the  utmost  consequence  the  reader  should 
understand  that  there  are  two  widely  different  methods  of  treat- 
ing this  deeply  interesting  subject— methods   which   proceed  on 
fundamentally    opposite  ^  views    of    man    and    of    nature.     One 
method  is  that  pursued  by  Buckle  in  his  '^iistory  of  Civiliza- 
tion in  England."     The  tendency  of  his  work  is  the  assertion  of 
the  supremacy  of  material  conditions  over  the  development  of 
human    history,  and,  indeed,  of  every  individual  mind.     Here 
man  is  purely  passive  in  the  hands  of  nature.     Exterior  con- 
ditions are  the  chief,  if  not  the  only  causes  of  man's  intellectual 
and  social  development.     So  that,  such  a  climate  and  soil,  such 
aspects  of  nature   and   local  circumstances  being  given,  such  a 
nation   necessarily  follows.     The  other  method  is  that  of  Carl 
Ritter,  Arnold  Guyot,  and  Cousin.     These  take  account  of  the 
freedom  of  the  human  will,  and  the   power,  of  man  to' control 
and  modify  the   forces  of   nature.     They  also   take  account  of 
the    original    constitution    of  man,   and   the    primitive    type   of 
nations;  and  they  allow  for  results  arising  from  the  mutual  con- 
flict of  geographical  conditions.     And  they,  especially,  recognize 
the  ao-encv  of  a  Divine  Providence   controlling  those   forces  in 
nature    by    which    the  configuration    of    the    earth's    surface    is 
determined,  and  the  distribution  of  its  oceans,  continents,  and 
islands  is  secured,  and  a  providence,  also,  directing  the  disper- 
sions and  migrations  of  nations — determining  the  times  of  each 
nation's  existence,  and  fixing  the  geographical   bounds  of  their 
habitation,  all  in  view  of  the  moral  history  and  spiritual  develop- 
ment of  the  race--"  that  they  may  feel  after,  and  find  the  living 
God."     The  relation  of  man  and  nature  is  not,  in  their  estima- 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


43 


tion,  a  relation  of  cause  and  effect.     It  is  a  relation   of  adjust- 
ment, of  harmony,  and  of  reciprocal  action  and  reaction.^ 

We  must  accept,  with  all  its  consequences,  the  dictum  of  uni- 
versal consciousness  that  man  is  J7re.  He  is  not  absolutely 
subject  to,  and  molded  by  nature.  He  has  the  power  to  control 
the  circumstances  by  which  he  is  surrounded — to  originate  new 
social  and  physical  conditions — to  determine  his  own  individual 
and  responsible  character — and  he  can  wield  a  mighty  influence 
over  the  character  of  his  fellow-men.  Individual  men,  as  Lycur- 
gus,  Solon,  Pericles,  Alexander,  Ca3sar,  and  Xapoleon,  have  left 
the  impress  of  their  own  mind  and  character  upon  the  political 
institutions  of  nations,  and,  in  an  indirect  manner,  upon  the 
character  of  succeeding  generations  of  men.  Homer,  Plato, 
Cicero,  Bacon,  Kant,  Locke,  Newton,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  have 
left  a  deep  and  permanent  impression  upon  the  forms  of  thought 
and  speech,  the  language  and  literature,  the  science  and  philoso- 
phy of  nations.  And,  inasmuch  as  a  nation  is  the  aggregate  of 
individual  beings  endowed  with  spontaneity  and  freedom,  we 
must  grant  that  exterior  conditions  are  not  omnipotent  in  the 
formation  of  national  character.  Still,  the  free  causality  of  man 
is  exercised  within  a  narrow  field.  "There  is  a  strictly  necessita- 
tive  limitation  drawing  an  impassable  boundary  line  around  the 
area  of  volitional  freedom."  The  human  will,  "however  sub- 
jectively free,"  is  often  "objectively  unfree;"  thus  a  large 
"uniformity  of  volitions"  is  the  natural  consequence.  The 
child  born  in  the  heart  of  China,  whilst  he  may,  in  his  personal 
freedom,  develop  such  traits  of  character  as  constitute  his  indi- 
viduality, must  necessarily  be  conformed  in  his  language,  habits, 
modes  of  thought,  and  religious  sentiments  to  the  spirit  of  his 
country  and  age.  We  no  more  expect  a  development  of 
Christian   thouf^ht  and  character  in  the  center  of   Africa,  un- 


1  Cocker. 


44 


MAN   AND   HIS   KELATIONS. 


.r- 


visited    by    Christian    teaching,    than    we    expect    to    find   the 
climate  and  vegetation- of  New  England.      And  we  no   more 
expect  that  a  New  England  child  shall  be  a  Mohammedan,  a 
Parsee,  or  a  Buddhist,  than  that   he   shall   have   an   Oriental 
physiognomy  and   speak  an  Oriental   language.     Indeed,   it  is 
impossible  for  a  man  to  exist  in  human  society  without  partak- 
ing in  the  spirit  and  manners  of  his  country  and  his  age.     Thus 
a\\  the  individuals  of  a  nation  represent,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  the  spirit  of  the  nation.     They  who  do  this  most  per- 
fecdy  are  the  great  men  of  that  nation,  because  they  are  at  once 
both  the  product  and  the  impersonation  of  their  country  and 
their  age.     ^^We  allow  ourselves,''  says  Fronde,  '^  to  think  of 
Shakespeare,   or  of  Raphael,   or  of  Phidias,  as  having  accom- 
plished their  work  by  the  power  of  their  individual  genius,  but 
greatness  like  theirs  is  never  more  than  the  highest  degree  of 
perfection  which  prevails  widely  around  it,  and  forms  the  en- 
vironment in  which  it  grows.     No  such  single  mind  in  single 
contact  with  the  facts  of  nature  could  have  created  a  Pallas,  a 
Madonna,  or  a  Lear ;  such  vast  conceptions  arc  the  growth  of 
acres  the  creation  of  a  nation's  spirit;  and  the  artist  and  poet, 
filled  full  with  the  power  of  that  spirit,  but  gave  it  form,  and 
nothing   but   form.      Nor   would   the    form   itself    have  .been 
attained  bv  anv  isolated  talent.     No  genius  can  dispense  with 
experience.     .     .     .     Noble  conceptions  already  existing,  and  a 
noble  school  of  execution  which  will  launch  mind  and  hand 
upon  their  true  courses,  are  indispensable  to  transcendent  excel- 
lence.    Shakespeare's  plays  were  as  much  the  offspring  of  the 
long  generations  who  had   pioneered  the   road   for  him  as  the 
discoveries  of  Newton  were  the  offspring  of  those  of  Copernicus." 
The  principles  here  enounced  apply  with  equal  force  to  philoso- 
phers and  men  of  science.     The  philosophy  of  Plato  was  but 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


45 


the  ripened  fruit  of  the  pregnant  thoughts  and  seminal  utter- 
ances of  his  predecessors — Socrates,  Anaxagoras,  and  Pytha- 
goras; whilst  all  of  them  do  but  represent  the  general  tendency 
and  spirit  of  their  country  and  their  times. 

The  principles  of  Lord  Bacon's  ^^nstauratio  Magna"  were 
incipient  in  the  "Opus  Majus"  of  Roger  Bacon,  the  Franciscan 
friar.     The  sixteenth  century  matured  the  thought  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.     The    inductive    method    in    scientific    inquiry 
was  immanent  in  the  British  mind,  and  the  latter  Bacon  only 
gave  to  it  a  permanent  form.     It  is  true  that  great  men  have 
occasionally  appeared    on  the   stage  of  history    who,  like    the 
reformers  Luther  and  Wesley,  have  seemed  to  be   in  conflict 
with  the  prevailing  spirit  of  their  age  and  nation,  but  these 
men    were   the   creations   of   a   providence  —  that   providence 
which,  fi'om  time  to  time,  has  super  naturally  interposed  in  the 
moral  history  of  our  race  by  corrective  and  remedial  measures. 
These  men  were  inspired  and  led  by  a  spirit  which  descended 
from  on  high.     And  yet  even  they  had  their  precursors  and 
harbinircrs.    Wyckliffe  and  John  Huss,  and  Jerome  of  Prague, 
are  but  the  representatives  of  numbers  whose  names  do   not 
grace  the  historic  page,  who  pioneered  the  way  for  Luther  and 
the  Reformation.     And  no   one  can   read  the  history  of  that 
great  movement  of  the  sixteenth  century  without  being  per- 
suaded   there    were    thousands    of    Luther's    predecessors    and 
contemporaries  who,  like  Staupitz  and   Erasmus,  lamented  the 
corruptions    of   the    Church    of    Rome,    and    only    needed   the 
heroic  courage  of  Luther  to  make  them  reformers,  also.    Whilst, 
therefore,  we  recogniz3  a  free  casual  power  in  man,  by  which 
he  determines  his  individual  and  responsible  character,  we  are 
compelled  to  recognize  the  general  law,  that  national  character 
is  mainly    the    result    of  those    geographical,  ethological,  and 


46 


MAN    AND   IirS    RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


47 


•ii' 


'4f» 


political   and   religious  conditions   in    which   the   nations    liave 
been  placed  in  the  providence  of  God.* 

It  would  be  a  melancholy  outlook  for  the  world  if  its  courses 
were  simply  contingent  on  the  genius  and  life  of  a  f-w  great 
men,  without  any  security  from  a  general  law  behind  that  tiiey 
should  appc^arat  the  right  time  and  place,  and  with  the  aptitudes 
fur  the  needle-work.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  were  the  life  of 
nations  to  be  expended  in  nothing  else  than  the  production  of 
its  half  ilozen  heroes— were  this  splendid  but  scanty  blossoming 
the  ^n-eat  and  only  real  thing  it  does,  there  would  seem  to  be  a 
wasteful  disproportion  between  the  mighty  forest  that  falls  for 
lumber  and  the  sparse  fruit  that  would  lie  upon  your  open  hand. 
There  is  need,  therefore,  of  some  more  manifest  relation  between 
individual  greatness  and  the  collective  life  of  humanity,  and,  to 
save  us  from  egotism,  from  fatalism,  from  arbitrary  and  capri- 
cious morals,  we  must  learn  to  recognize  a  divine  method  of 
development  in  both— p/'/mar//^,  in  race  and  nation,  and  with 
authoritv  over  the  secondary  functions  of  personal  genius.^ 

What  we  call  the  race  are  the  innate  and  hereditary  disposi- 
tions which  man  brings  with  him  to  the  light,  and  which,  as  a 
rule,  are  united  with  the  marked  differences  in  the  temperament 
and  structure  of  the  body.  They  vary  with  various  peoples. 
There  is  a  natural  variety  of  men,  as  of  oxen  and  horses — some 
brave  and  intelligent,  some  timid  and  dependent,  some  capable  of 
superior  conceptions  and  creations,  some  reduced  to  rudimentary 
ideas  and  inventions,  some  more  specially  fitted  to  special  works 
and  gifted  more  richly  with  particular  instincts,  as  we  meet  with 
species  of  dogs  better  favored  than  others — these  for  hunting,  these 
for  fighting,  these  for  the  chase,  these,  again,  for  house  dogs  or 
shepherds^  dogs.  We  have  here  a  distinct  force — so  distinct  that, 
amidst  the  vast  deviations  which  the  other  two  motive  forces  pro- 


duce In  him,  one  can  recogniz;^  it  still ;  and  a  race,  like  the  old 
Aryans,  scattered  from  the  Ganges  as  far  as  the  Hebrides,  set- 
tled  in  every  clime,   spread   over   every   grade   of  civilization, 
transformed  bv  thirtv  (centuries  of  revolutions^  nevertheless  mani- 
fests  in  its  tongues,  religions,  literatures,  philosophies,  the  com- 
munity of  blood   and   of  intellect  which   to   this   day  binds  its 
offshoots  together.     Different  as  they  are,  their  parentage  is  not 
obliterated— barbarism,  culture  and  grafting,  differences  of  sky 
and  soil,  fortunes  good  and  bad,  have  labored  in  vain ;  the  great 
marks  of  the  original  model  have  remained,  and  we  find  again 
the  two  or  three  principal  lineaments  of  the  primitive  Imprint 
underneath    the   secondary   imprints    which    time    has    stamped 
above  them.     There  is  nothing  astonishing  in  this  extraordinary 
tenacitv.     Although  the  vastness  of  the  distance  lets  us  but  half 
perceive— and  by  a  doubtful  light  -  the  origin   of  species,  the 
events  of  history  sufficiently  illumhie  the  events  anterior  to  his- 
tory to  explain  the  almost  immovable  steadfastness  of  the  pri- 
mordial  marks.     When   we   meet    with    them,   fifteen,    twenty, 
thirtv  centuries  before  our  era,  in  an  Aryan,  an  Egyptian,  a  Chi- 
nese,  they  represent  the  work  of  several   myriads  of  centuries. 
For,  as  soon  as  an  animal  begins  to  exist,  it  has  to  reconcile 
itself  with   its  surroundings;  it  breathes  after  a   new   fashion, 
renews  itself,  is  differently  affected  according  to  the  new  changes 
in  air,  food,  temperature. 

Different  climate  and  situation  bring  its  various  needs,  and, 
consequently,  a  different  course  of  actions,  and  this  again  a  differ- 
ent set  of  habits,  and  still  again  a  different  set  of  aptitudes  and 
instincts.  Man,  forced  to  accommodate  himself  to  circumstances, 
contracts  a  temperament  and  a  character  corresponding  to  them, 
and  his  character,  like  his  temperament,  is  so  much  more  stable 
as  the  external  impression  is  made  upon  him  by  more  numerous 


1  Cocker, 


Martineau. 


f 

4 
i 


48 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


repetitions,  and  is  transmitted  to  his  progeny  by  a  more  ancient 
descent.  So  that  at  any  moment  we  may  consider  the  character 
of  a  people  as  an  abridgment  of  all  its  preceding  actions  and 
sensations ;  that  is,  as  a  quantity  and  as  a  weight— not  infinite, 
since  evcrvthinjr  in  nature  is  finite,  but  disproportioned  to  the 
rest,  and  almost  impossible  to  lift,  since  every  moment  of  an 
almost  infinite  past  has  contributed  to  increase  it,  and  because, 
in  order  to  raise  the  scale,  one  must  place  in  the  opposite  scale 
a  still  greater  number  of  actions  and  sensations.  Such  is  the 
first  and  richest  source  of  these  master  faculties  from  which  his- 
torical events  take  their  rise  ;  and  one  sees  at  the  outset  that  if  it 
be  powerful,  it  is  because  this  is  no  simple  spring,  but  a  kind  of 
lake,  a  deep  reservoir,  w^herein  other  springs  have,  for  a  multi- 
tude of  centuries,  discharged  their  several  streams.^ 

•Man  mav  be  reg-arded  cither  in  his  organism  or  in  his  dynam- 
ism:  in  the  functions  which  constitute  his  physical  life,  or  in 
the  operations  which  constitute  his  mental  life.     Are  both  of 
these  forms  of  life  subject  to  the  law  of  heredity?   are  they 
subject  to  it  wholly,  or  only  in  part?  and,  in  the  latter  case,  to 
what  extent  are  they  so  subject?     .     .     .     The  first  thing  that 
attracts  the  attention,  even  of  the  unobservant,  is  the  heredity 
of  the  external  structure.     This  is  a  fact  of  every-day  experi- 
ence, and  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  that  such  and 
such  a  child  is  the  image  of  its  father,  mother,  or  grandparents. 
.      .      .     Heredity    regulates   the   proportions  of  the   nervous 
system.     It  is  evident  in  the  general  dimensions  of  the  brain, 
the  principal  organ  of  that  system ;  it  is  very  often  apparent 
in  the  size,  and  even  in  the  form,  of  the  cerebral  convolutions. 
This  fact   was  observed  by  Gall,  who  thereby   accounted  for 
the   transmission   of    mental    faculties.      ...      It    is    now 
generally  understood  that  longevity  depends  far  less  on  race, 


THE   ENVIRONMENT. 


49 


climate,  profession,  mode  of  life  or  food,  than  on  hereditary 
transmission.^ 

Who  does  not  see  that  the  terrific  seriousness  of  the  laws 
of  hereditary  descent,  instead  of  being  an  injustice,  is  a  procla- 
mation to  every  man  to  institute  a  reform?  Who  does  not  see 
that  the  sternness  of  what  is  done  on  the  left  hand  pushes 
humanity  into  the  softness  of  the  right  hand?  Who  does  not 
see  that  God  makes  all  his  chastisements  like  the  mo  therms 
tossing  of  her  infant  upon  her  knees?  This  is  for  the  sake 
of  health.  He  makes  them  to  be  like  obstacles  laid  down  in 
the  path  of  a  child  learning  to  walk.  A  little  clambering  is 
an  education.  If,  after  all  their  allurement  of  promise  and 
their  threat  of  doom,  there  is  at  last  no  hope  of  reform,  what 
do  the  laws  of  hereditary  descent  do  ?  They  put  an  end  to  the 
earthly  existence  of  the  transgressor.  When  I  meditate  on  the 
severity  of  the  laws  of  hereditary  descent,  I  am  relieved  by 
rememberino:  that  the  earthlv  career  of  vice  is  short.  Before 
the  eyes  of  exact  observation  in  this  w^orld,  the  thoroughly 
vicious  family  is  at  last  burned  up.  So  much  we  know  beyond 
a  peradventure  as  to  the  fires  of  the  universe.  One  of  the 
greatest  curses  pronounced  alike  by  the  Scriptures  and  natural 
law  upon  evil  is  that  it  shall  have  no  name  long  in  the  earth. 
You  say  that  often  evil  dispositions  are  inherited  through  many 
generations.  Sometimes  people  who  are  half  vicious  and  half 
virtuous,  if  such  expressions  may  be  allowed,  puzzle  the  world 
in  families  that  live  century  after  century.  Yes;  in  spite  of 
the  severity  of  the  laws  of  hereditary  descent,  God  gives  every 
half-breed  a  chance.  He  suffers  long  with  a  man  who  has 
received  burdens  out  of  the  ancestral  spaces,  and  comes 
weighted   into  life.     He  gives  him    an   opportunity,  and  puts 

by  his  side  these  laws  of  heredity  reversional,  collateral,  pre- 
5 

1  Ribot. 


I'  i 


1  Taine. 


50 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIRONMENT. 


51 


marital,  pre-natal,  and  Initial.  Direct  heredity  does  not 
choke  him.  Five  other  laws  of  heredity  stand  by  him,  if 
natural  law  is  obeyed.  .  .  .  When  the  Supreme  Power 
sees  that  no  chance  is  improved,  then  it  allows  the  laws  of 
heredity  to  shut  down  upon  the  transgressors,  and  they  are 
removed  from  the  earth.  AVhat  good  does  that  riddance  or 
removal  do?  It  has  been  justly  said  that  the  ages  are  kept 
from  being  insane  by  the  cradles  and  by  death.  If  we  could 
not  get  rid  of  disordered  human  ^organizations,  w^hat  would 
happen  to  the  centuries?  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  remarks  that 
most  people  think  that  any  difficulty  of  a  physical  sort  can  be 
cured  if  a  physician  is  called  early  enough.  "  Yes,"  he  replies, 
"  but  early  enough  would  commonly  be  two  hundred  years  in 
advance."  Concerning  the  ti^rrific  earnestness  of  Nature,  it  is 
certain  that  she  means  well,  even  in  her  severities,  and  that  we 
must  treat  her  as  we  would  a  kind  commonwealth.^ 

The  gross  lines  are  legible  to  the  dull.  The  cabman  is  phre- 
nologist so  far :  he  looks  in  your  face  to  see  if  his  shilling  is 
sure.  A  dome  of  brow  denotes  one  thing ;  a  pot-belly  another ; 
a  squint,  a  pug-nose,  mats  of  hair,  the  pigment  of  the  epidermis, 
betray  character.  People  seem  sheathed  in  their  tough  organi- 
zation.  Ask  Spurzheim,  ask  the  doctors,  ask  Quetelet,  if  tem- 
peraments decide  nothing,  or  if  there  be  anything  they  do  not 
decide  ?  Read  the  description  in  medical  books  of  the  four  tem- 
peraments, and  you  will  think  you  are  reading  your  own 
thoughts  which  you  had  not  yet  told.  Find  the  part  which 
black  eyes  and  which  blue  eyes  play  severally  in  the  company. 
How  shall  a  man  escape  from  his  ancestors,  or  draw  off  from  his 
veins  the  black  drop  which  he  drew  from  his  father's  or  his 
mother's  life?  It  often  appears  in  a  family,  as  if  all  the  quali- 
ties of  the  progenitors  were  potted  in  several  jars — some  ruling 

^Cook. 


quality  in  each  son  or  daughter  of  the  house — and  sometimes  the 
unmixed  temperament,  the  rank,  unmitigated  elixir,  the  family 
vice,  is  drawn  off  in  a  separate  individual,  and  the  others  are  pro- 
portionally relieved.  We  sometimes  see  a  change  of  expression  in 
our  companion,  and  say.  His  father  or  his  mother  comes  to  the 
windows  of  his  eyes,  and  sometimes  a  remote  relative.  In  differ- 
ent hours  a  man  represents  each  of  several  of  his  ancestors,  as  if 
there  were  seven  or  eight  of  us  rolled  up  in  each  man's  skin — 
seven  or  eight  ancestors,  at  least — and  they  constitute  the  variety 
of  notes  for  that  new  piece  of  music  which  his  life  is.^ 

The  laws  of  Material  Organization  are  not  the  only  laws  to 
which  mind  is  subject.  Obscure  as  these  laws  are,  there  are 
others  which  are  obscurer  still.  What  we  can  not  see  in  detail 
we  can  see  in  the  gross ;  what  we  can  not  recognize  in  ourselves 
we  are  able  to  recognize  in  others.  W^e  can  see  that  the  actions 
and  opinions  of  men,  which  are  the  phenomena  of  mind,  do 
range  themselves  in  an  observed  order,  upon  which  order  we 
can  found,  even  as  we  do  in  the  material  world,  very  safe  con- 
elusions  as  to  the  phenomena  which  will  follow  upon  definite 
conditions.  And  when  we  go  back  to  former  generations — to 
the  history  of  nations  and  the  progress  of  the  human  race — we 
can  detect  still  more  clearly  an  orderly  progress  of  events.  In 
that  order  the  operation  of  great  general  causes  becomes  at  once 
apparent.  On  the  recognition  of  such  causes  the  philosophy  q^ 
history  depends,  and  upon  that  recognition  depends  not  less  the 
possibility  of  applying  to  the  exigencies  of  our  own  time,  and  of 
our  own  society,  a  wise  and  successful  legislation.^ 

Fate. — Whatever  limits  us  we  call  Fate.  If  ^\Q  are  brute 
and  barbarous,  the  fate  takes  a  brute  and  dreadful  shape.  As 
we  refine  our  checks  become  finer.  If  we  rise  to  spiritual  cult- 
ure, the  antagonism  takes   a  spiritual   form.      In   the  Hindoo 


1  Emerson. 


2  Duke  of  Argyll. 


I.. 


52 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


THE    ENVIKOXMENT. 


53 


fables  Vbknu  follows  Maya  through  all  her  ascending  changes, 
from  insect  and  cra.fish  up  to  elephant.  Whatever  form  .he 
took,  he  took  the  raale  form  of  that  kind,  until  she  became  at 
last  M-oman  and  goddcs.,  and  he  a  nu.u  and  a  god.  The  l.mita- 
tions  refine  as  the  soul  purifies,  but  tte  ring  of  necessity  .s  always 

perched  at  the  top.^  „    ,  .       a- 

If  .e  nu.st  accept  Fate,  we  are  not  le.s  compelled  to  affirm 
liberty  the  significance  of  the  individual,  the  grandeur  <.f  duty, 
the  po4er  of  character.     This  is  true,  and  that  other  is  true ;  but 

'■  .       *l,oe,^  pxtreme  woints  and  reconcile 

our  geometrv  can  not  span  these  extreme  po 

them  What  to  do  ?  By  obeying  each  thought  frankly,  by  harp- 
in.,  or,  if  you  will,  pounding  on  each  string,  we  learn  at  last  .ts 
power.  By  the  same  obedience  to  other  thoughts  M'e  learn  the.rs, 
uud  then  comes  some  reasonable  hope  of  harmonizing  thenu  A\  e 
are  sure  that,  though  we  know  not  how,  necessity  does  comport 
with  liberty,  the  individual  with  the  world,  n,y  polar.ty  with 
the  spirit  of  the  times.- 

To  offset  the  drag  of  temperament  and  race,  which  pulls  down, 
learn  this  lesson-namely,  that  by  the  cunning  co-presence  of 
two   elements  which  is   throughout  nature,  whatever  lames  or 
paralvzcs  you  draws  in  with  it  the  divinity,  in  some  form,  to 
repa;       V    good    intention   clothes   itself  with    sudden    power 
When  a  god  wishes  to  ride,  any  chip  or  pebble  will  bud  and 
shoot  out  winged  feet,  and  serve  him  for  a  horse.     Let  us  bndd 
altars  to  the  Blessed  Unity  which  holds  nature  and  souls  in  per- 
fect solution,  and  compels  every  atom  to  serve  an  universal  end. 
I  do  not  wonder  at  a  snow-flake,  a  shell,  a  summer  landscape,  or 
the  glory  of  the  stars,  but  at  the  necessity  of  beauty  under  which 
the  universe  lies,  that  all  is   and  must  be  pictorial,  that  the 
rainbow,  and  the  curve  of  the  horizon,  and  the  arch  of  the  blue 
vault,  are  onlv  results  from  the  organism  of  the  eye.     There  is 


no  need  for  foolish  amateurs  to  fetch  me  to  admire  a  garden  of 
flowers,  or  a  sun-gift  cloud,  or  a  waterfall,  when  I  can  net  look 
without  seeing  splendor  and  grace.  How  idle  to  choose  a  ran- 
dom sparkle  here  or  there,  when  the  indwelling  necessity  plants 
the  rose  of  beautv  on  the  brow  of  chaos,  and  discloses  the  cen- 
tral  intention  of  Xature  to  be  harmony  and  joy ! ' 

The  government  of  the  world  is  accomplished  by  immutable 
law.  Such  a  conception  commends  itself  to  the  intellect  of  man 
by  its  majestic  grandeur.  It  makes  him  discern  the  eternal 
through  the  vanishing  of  present  events,  and  through  the  shadows 
of  time.  From  the  life,  the  pleasures,  the  sufferings  of  human- 
ity, it  points  to  the  impassive ;  from  our  wishes,  wants,  and  woes, 
to  the  inexorable.  Leaving  the  individual  beneath  the  eye  of 
Providence,  it  shows  society  under  the  finger  of  law.  And  the 
laws  of  Xature  never  vary ;  iu  their  application  they  never  hesi- 
tate, nor  are  wanting.  But  in  thus  ascending  to  primordial  laws, 
and  asserting  their  immutability,  universality,  and  paramount 
control  in  the  government  of  this  world,  there  is  nothing  incon- 
sistent with  the  free  action  of  man. 

The  appearance  of  things  depends  altogether  on  the  point  of 
view  we  occupy.  Hl^  who  is  immersed  in  the  turmoil  of  a 
crowded  city  sees  nothing  but  the  acts  of  men,  and,  if  he  formed 
his  opinion  from  his  experience  alone,  nnist  conclude  that  the 
course  of  events  altogether  depends  on  the  uncertainties  of  human 
volition.  But  he  who  ascends  to  a  sufficient  elevation  loses  sight 
of  the  passing  conflicts,  and  no  longer  hears  the  contentions.  He 
discovers  that  the  importance  of  individual  action  is  diminishing 
as  the  jmnorama  beneath  him  is  extending.  And  if  he  could 
attain  to  the  truly  philosophical,  the  general  point  of  view,  di.s- 
eno-aging  himself  from  all  terrestrial  influences  and  entangle- 
ments, rising  high  enough  to  see  the  whole  globe  at  a  glance,  his 


5  Lmerson. 


a  Ibid. 


1  Emerson. 


54 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


acutest  vision  would  fiiil  to  discover  the  slightest  indication  of 
man,  his  free  will,  or  his  works.  In  iK^r  resistless,  onward 
sweep,  in  the  clock-like  precision  of  her  daily  and  nightly  revo- 
lution, in  the  well-known  pictured  forms  of  her  continents  and 
seas,  now  no  longer  dark  and  doubtful,  but  shedding  forth  a 
])lauetary  light,  well  might  he  ask  what  had  become  of  all  the 
aspirations  and  anxieties,  the  pleasures  and  agony  of  life.  As 
the  voluntary  vanished  from  his  sight,  and  the  irresistible  re- 
mained, and  each  movement  became  more  and  more  distinct, 
well  miirht  he  incline  to  disbelieve  his  own  experience,  and  to 
question  whether  the  seat  of  so  much  undying  glory  could  be  the 
place  of  so  much  human  uncertainty — vrhether  beneath  the  vast- 
ness,  energy,  and  immutable  course  of  a  moving  ^yorld,  there  lay 
concealed  the  feebleness  and  imbecility  of  man.  Yet  it  is  none 
the  less  true  than  these  contradictory  conditions  co-exist — Free- 
will and  Fate,  Uncertainty  and  Destiny ;  and  all  are  watched  by 
the  sleepless  eye  of  Providence.  It  is  only  the  point  of  view 
that  has  changed;  but  on  that  how  much  has  depended!  A 
little  nearer  we  gather  the  successive  ascertainments  of  human 
inquiry;  a  little  farther  off  we  realize  the  panoramic  vision  of 
the  Deity.  Well  has  a  Hindoo  philosopher  remarked,  that  he 
who  stands  by  the  bank  of  a  flowing  stream  sees,  in  their  order, 
the  various  parts  as  they  successively  glide  by,  but  he  who  is 
placed  on  an  exalted  station  views,  at  a  glance,  the  w^hole  as^a 
motionless  silvery  thread  among  the  fields.  To  the  one  there  is 
the  accumulating  experience  and  knowledge  of  man  in  time ;  to 
the  other  there  is  the  instantaneous  and  unsuccessive  knowledge 
of  God.^ 


Draper. 


^O^iEIPiHl      ^\[O)[O)0©(n)F3 


OHAPTEE   II. 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


,•1.1 


For  man  is  a  plant,  not  fixed  in  the  earth,  nor  immovable,  but  heavenly,  whose 
head,  rising,  a.s  it  were,  from  a  root  upward,  is  turned  toward  heaven.  —  Plutarch. 

THE  book  of  Nature  is  a  book  of  Fate.  She  turns  the  gigan- 
tic pages,  leaf  after  leaf,  never  returning  one.  One  leaf  she 
lays  down,  a  floor  of  granite ;  then  a  thousand  ages,  and  a  bed  of 
slate ;  a  thousand  ages,  and  a  measure  of  coal ;  a  thousand  ages, 
and  a  layer  of  marl  and  mud:  vegetable  forms  appear;  her  first 
misshapen  animals,  zoophyte,  trilobium,  fish;  then  saurians — 
rude  forms,  in  which  she  has  only  blocked  her  future  statue, 
concealing  under  these  unw^ieldy  monsters  the  fine  type  of  her 
coming  king.  The  face  of  the  planet  cools  and  dries,  the  races 
meliorate,  and  man  is  born.^ 


MAN. 


ANIMAL   LIFE. 


VEGETABLE   LIFE. 


CHE3IICAL   AFFINITY. 


COHESION. 


GRAVITATION. 


In  this  figure  we  see  the  different  steps  of  the  creation  as  it 
went  U13,  taking  with  it  all  that  was  below,  and  adding  some- 

(55) 


1  Emerson, 


56 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


thing  at  every  step.  At  first  we  have  only  Gravitation,  then 
Cohesion  ;  but  every  particle  that  coheres  also  gravitates.  Then 
we  have  Chemical  Affinity  ;  but  every  particle  united  by  that 
also  coheres  and  gravitates,  and  so  on  upward  till  we  reach  man. 
In  him  we  find  at  work  Gravitation,  Cohesion,  Chemical  Affinity, 
that  Organic  Life  which  belongs  to  the  vegetable,  a  Life  that  is 
merely  animal,  and  also  that  higher  Rational,  Moral,  and  Spirit- 
ual Life,  which  is  peculiar  to  himself.  Everything  is  carried 
up,  and  then  something  is  added ;  it  is  not  devek>ped  from  what 
is  below,  or  caused  by  it,  but  added  to  it,  till  we  reach  man  at 
the  top.  Man  is  there  by  the  possession  of  everything  that  is 
below  him,  and  something  more— that  something  being  that 
w^hich  makes  him  man.^ 

It  is  evident  that  there  is  a  manifest  progress  in  the  succession 
of  beings  on  the  surface  of  the  earth.  This  progress  consists  in 
an  increasing  similarity  to  the  living  fauna,  and  among  the 
vertebrates,  especially  in  their  increasing  resemblance  to  man. 
But  this  connection  is  not  the  consequence  of  a  direct  lineage 
between  the  faunas  of  different  ages.  There  is  nothing  like 
parental  descent  connecting  them.  The  fishes  of  the  Palaeozoic 
age  are  in  no  respect  the  ancestors  of  the  reptiles  of  the  Second- 
ary age ;  nor  does  man  descend  from  the  mammals  which  pre- 
ceded him  in  the  Tertiary  age.  The  link  by  which  they  are 
connected  is  of  a  higher  and  immaterial  nature ;  and  their  con- 
nection is  to  be  sought  in  the  view  of  the  Creator  Himself, 
whose  aim  in  forming  the  earth,  in  allowing  it  to  undergo  the 
successive  changes  which  geology  has  pointed  out,  and  in  creating 
successively  all  the  different  types  of  animals  which  have  passed 
away,  was  to  introduce  man  upon  the  surface  of  our  globe. 
Man  is  the  end  toward  which  all  the  animal  creation  has  tended 
from  the  first  appearance  of  the  first  Palaeozoic  fishes.^ 


1  Mark  Hopkins,  LL.D. 


2  Agassiz. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


57 


My  God,  I  heard  this  day 
That  none  doth  build  a  stately  habitation 
But  he  that  means  to  dwell  therein. 
What  house  more  stately  hath  there  been, 
Or  can  be,  than  is  Man  ?  to  whose  creation 
All  things  are  in  decay. 

For  man  is  every  thing, 

And  more.     He  is  a  tree,  yet  bears  no  fruit ; 

A  beast,  yet  is  or  should  be  more. 

Eeason  and  speech  we  only  bring. 

Parrots  may  thank  us,  if  they  are  not  mute, 

They  go  upop  the  score. 

Man  is  all  symmetry. 

Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another, 

And  all  to  the  world  besides ; 

Each  part  may  call  the  farthest  brother ; 

For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity, 

And  both  with  moons  and  tides. 

Nothing  hath  got  so  far. 

But  man  liath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey. 

His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  star : 

He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere  : 

Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 

Find  their  acquaintance  there. 


For  us  the  winds  do  blow, 

The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  fountains  flow. 

Nothing  we  see  but  means  our  good 

As  our  delight,  or  as  our  treasure ; 

The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food, 

Or  cabinet  of  pleasure.^ 

The  essence  of  our  being,  the  mystery  in  us  that  calls  itself 
"  I " — ah,  what  words  have  we  for  such  things  ? — is  a  breath  of 

1  Herbert. 


58 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Heaven;  the  Highest  Being  reveals  himself  in  man.  This 
body,  these  faculties,  this  life  of  ours,  is  it  not  all  as  a  vesture 
for  that  Unnamed  ?  "  There  is  but  one  temple  in  the  universe," 
says  the  devout  Novalis,  "  and  that  is  the  body  of  man.  Noth- 
ing is  holier  than  that  high  form.  Bending  before  men  is  a 
reverence  done  to  this  revelation  in  the  flesh.  ^Ye  touch  heaven 
when  we  lay  our  hand  on  a  human  body  !"  This  sounds  much 
like  a  mere  flourish  of  rhetoric,  but  it  is  not  so.  If  well  medi- 
tated, it  will  turn  out  to  be  a  scientific  fact;  the  expression,  in 
such  words  as  can  be  had,  of  the  actual  truth  of  the  thing. 
We  are  the  miracle  of  miracles— the  great*  inscrutable  mystery 
of  God.  We  can  not  understand  it,  we  know  not  how  to 
speak  of  it;    but   we   feel   and   know,  if  we   like,  that   it   is 

verily  so.^ 

The  physical  man  stands  at  the  apex  of  the  pyramid  of 
matter— all  the  juices,  flavors  and  fatness  of  the  world  converg- 
ing- to  enrich  his  blood  and  renew  his  flesh,  and  incarnate  them- 
selves  in  his  organism;  all  the  forces  of  nature— light,  heat, 
atmosphere,  electricities,  chemical  affinities,  magnetisms— circu- 
lating around  him  and  refreshing  his  strength ;  all  the  subtile 
arts  of  matter  playing  in  the  secretions  and  the  mysteries  of  his 
moving  laboratory  of  life.  Your  spirit  steps  into  your  body  to 
ride  and  wield  the  harnessed  forceS  of  the  world.  And  now 
within  the  material  home  is  the  intellectual  structure  of  a  man, 
which  mental  philosophies  for  ages  have  been  trying  to  measure 
and  report  in  its  large  and  graceful  proportions  of  reason,  senti- 
ment, passion,  will.  And  interpenetrating  and  towering  over 
this  is  the  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  human  being;  not  the 
mere  physical  beauty  which  hides  and  yet  shines  in  the  fashion- 
ing of  the  limbs,  and  which  glows  in  the  glorious  marble  of 
the  Apollo,  but  the  splendor  of  intellectual  strength  that  showers 


1  Carlyle. 


THE   NATURE  OF   MAN. 


59 


from  the  eye,  the  calm  that  sleeps  mysteriously  upon  a  brow,  the 
majesty  that  enthrones  itself  over  an  eyebrow,  and  lowers  from 
the  bony  circle  an  inch  or  two  in  sweep,  built  for  an  eye  like 
^Yebster's  — a  majesty   which,  when   Nature  tries  to    intimate 
with  physical  material,  she  splits  a  notch  in  the  New  Hampshire 
mountains,  and  bars  the  awful  walls  with  a  bare  precipice  of 
granite  — a  pride  of  power  like  that  shed  from  the  chest  of 
Goethe— a  commanding,  all-potent  presence  that  swathed  the 
form  of  Washington.     And  above  all  these  insignia  of  meaning 
and  mystery  are  the  spiritual  forces  that  live  and  work  deeper 
and  deeper  in  a  human  being,  playing  even  through  his  flesh  as 
visibly  as  chemical  processes  leave  their  traces  .there.     For,  at 
the 'same  moment  that  the  powers  of  the  stomach  are  sending 
the  flush  of  physical  health  to  the  cheek,  a  force  of  Heaven  is 
writing  there,  with  delicate  pencil  more  subtle  than  a  sunbeam, 
and  more  enduring  than  a  graver^s  steel,  a  line  of  expression, 
telling  of  reward  for  some  good  deed  or  noble  sacrifice.     And 
while  the  brandy  a  man  takes  immoderately  is  publishing  itself 
in  the  hue  of  his  countenance,  a  brush  from  the  pit  is  reaching 
up  to  leave  the  stain  of  a  passion,  or  the  coarse  turn  of  a  habit 
and  a  sin.     Every  power  of  this  universe  is  at  work  upon  every 
man— all  the  science,  all  the  beauty,  all  the  forces  of  the  realm 
of  intellect,  all  the  pencils  of  the  regions  of  heaven  and  hell. 
Every  sphere  surrounds  each  human  frame.     Our  feet  are  in  the 
dust,  but  we  rise  through  all  climates,  zones,  kingdoms,  and 
there  is  no  one  of  us  whose  base  is  not  in  the  world  of  dark- 
ness, and  the  summit  of  whose  being  does  not  pierce  at  times  to 

the  secret  heavens.^ 

Evil  of  Putting  a  Low  Estimate  on  Man.— It  is  of 
dangerous  consequence  to  represent  to  man  how  near  he  is  to 
the  level  of  beasts,  without  showing  him  at  the  same  time  his 


1  Thomas. 


60 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


greatness.  It  is  likewise  dangerous  to  let  him  see  liis  greatness, 
without  his  meanness.  It  is  more  dangerous  yet  to  leave  him 
iirnorant  of  either ;  but  verv  beneficial  that  he  should  be  made 
sensible  of  both.^ 

Who  is  this  small  philosopher  that  smiles,  either  at  the 
simplicity  of  all  honest  men,  or  at  the  simplicity  of  all  honest 
defenders  of  them?  He  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  man  who  stands 
up  before  us,  and  has  the  face  to  boast  that  he  is  himself  with- 
out principle.  No  doubt,  he  thinks  other  men  as  bad  as  him- 
self A  man  necessarily,  perhaps,  judges  the  actions  of  other 
men  bv  his  own  feelings.  He  has  no  other  interpreter.  The 
honest  man,  therefore,  will  often  presume  honesty  in  another; 
and  the  generous  man,  generosity.  And  so  the  selfish  man  can 
see  nothing  around  him  but  selfishness;  and  the  knave,  nothing 
but  dishonesty;  and  he  who  never  felt  anything  of  a  generous 
and  self-devoting  piety,  who  never  bowed  down  in  that  holy 
and  blessed  worship,  can  see  in  prayer  nothing  but  the  offering 
of  selfish  fear;  in  piety,  nothing  but  a  slavish  superstition.  In 
the  next  place,  this  sneerer  at  all  virtue  and  piety  not  only 
imagines  others  to  be  as  destitute  of  principle  as  himself,  but, 
to  some  extent,  he  makes  them  such,  or  makes  them  seem 
such.     His    eye  of  pride    chills   every    goodly    thing   it   looks 

npon.^ 

The  idea  which  we  form  of  man,  like  the  idea  which  we  form 
of  God,  is  a  powerful  element  in  our  civilization,  either  for  good 
or  ill.  This  idea  will  strongly  affect  the  condition  and  character 
of  every  one.  "  Call  a  man  a  thief,  and  he  will  pick  a  pocket," 
is  already  a  proverb.  Convince  him  that  he  is  the  noblest 
creation  of  the  great  God,  that  his  beauty  shames  these  flowers 
at  my  side,  and  outblazons  the  stars  of  heaven — then  he  begins 
to  aspire  to  have  a  history,  to  be  a  man ;  and  this  aspiration 


1  Pascal. 


2  Dewey. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


61 


corresponds  to  the  great  nature  in  him.     Soon  as  you  convince 
him  of  this  nature,  he  takes  a  step  forward,  and  puts  out  wings 
to  fly    upward.     I  look  with  anguish  on  the  two  schemes  of 
thou<»-ht  which  degrade  the  nature  of  man,  hostile  in  many  other 
respects — the  materialism  of  the  last  or  the  present  century,  and 
the  popular  theology  of  all  Christendom,  both  of  which  put  a 
low  estimate  on  man.     The  one  makes  him  a  selfish  and  mortal 
animal,  only  body  and  bones  and  brains,  and  his  soul  but  a 
function  of  the  brute  matter  he  is  made  of;  the  other  makes 
him  a  selfish  and  immortal  devil,  powerful  only  to  sin,  and  im- 
mortal only  to  be  eternally  tormented.     The  popular  theology 
of  Christendom,  one  of  the  many  errors  which  man  has  cast  out 
of  him,  as  incidents  of  his  development,  has  much  to  answer  for. 
It  debases  God,  and  it  degrades  man.     It  makes  us  think  meanly 
of  ourselves,  and  dreadfully  of  our    Creator.     What  makes  it 
more  dangerous  and  more  difficult  is  that  both  of  these  errors 
are  taught  as  a  miraculous  revelation  from  God  Himself,  and, 
accordindv,  not   amenable   to    human    correction.     Now,   self- 
esteem  is  commonly  large  enough  in  the  individual  man ;  it  is 
but  rarely  that  one  thinks  of  himself  less  and  less  highly  than  he 
ought  to  think;  for  the  great  function  to  be  accomplished  by 
self-esteem  is  so  very  important  that  it  is  always,   or  almost 
always,  abundantly  provided   for.     But  it  is  one  of  the  com- 
monest errors  in  the  world  to  think  meanly  of  human  nature 
itself.     It  is  also  one  of  the  most  fatal  of  mistakes.     Nay,  indi- 
vidual self-esteem  is  oflen  elated  by  the   thought  that  general 
human  nature  is  rather  contemptible,  and  the  special  excellence 
that  I  have  does  not  come  from  my  human  nature,  which  I  have 
in  common  with  every  beggar  in  the  street  and  every  culprit 
that   was    ever  hanged,  but  from    my  personal  nature,  and  is 
singular  to  me;  not  the  possibility  of  the  meanest  man,  but  the 


62 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


peculiar  possession  of  myself.  A  man  thus  gratifies  his  self- 
esteem  at  the  expense  of  his  real  self-advancement  and  bliss. 
Then,  too,  it  is  thought  an  acceptable  and  beautiful  mode  of 
honoring  God  to  think  meanly  of  his  chief  work — that  it  is  good 
for  nothing;  for  then,  it  is  said,  we  do  not  exalt  the  creature 
above  the  Creator,  but  give  God  the  glory.  That  is,  in  reality, 
we  give  -God  the  glory  of  making  a  work  that  is  good  for 
nothinjr,  and  not  worth  the  making.  I  could  never  think  that 
I  honored  an  artist  by  thinking  as  meanly  as  it  was  possible  on 
trial  to  think  of  the  best  work  which  that  artist  had  brought 

to  pass.^ 

Faculties.  —  To  know,  to  feel,  and  to  choose,  are  the  most 
obviously  distinguishable  states  of  the  soul.  These  are  referred 
to  three  powders  or  faculties,  which  are  designated  as  the  intel- 
lect, the  sensibility,  and  the  will.  No  soul  is  truly  human  in 
which  they  are  not  present.  The  exercise  and  experience  of 
them  is  necessary  to  every  perfectly  constituted  and  fully  devel- 
oped human  being.  They  may  not  all  be  active  in  an  infant 
of  a  few  days  old,  but  they  are  sure  to  become  so,  if  the  infant 
lives,  and  nothing  interferes  w^ith  its  normal  development.  But 
when  we  say  that  the  soul  must  possess  these  powers  in  order  to 
be  human,  we  do  not  assert  that  any  two  human  beings  possess 
them  in  the  same  proportion,  or  exercise  them  with  the  same 
energy.  All  men  perceive,  remember,  and  reason ;  but  all  men 
do  not  perceive  with  the  same  quickness  and  accuracy,  nor  do 
all  men  remember  with  the  same  readiness  and  reach,  nor  do 
they  reason  with  equal  certainty  and  discrimination.  The  sensi- 
bilities of  some  men  are  obtuse,  and  of  others  are  acute.  The 
choices  and  practical  impulses  of  men  differ  most  of  all.  By 
these,  each  man  is  pre-eminently  himself,  sharing  in  no  sense  his 
individuality  with  any  other  human  being. 


1  Parker. 


THE    NATURE   OF    MAN. 


68 


In  these  natural  and  original  differences,  the  faculties  are  not 
altogether  independent  one  of  another.     A  powerful  intellect,  to 
be  dt^veloped  into  its  normal  attainment,  needs  to  be  stimulated 
by  strong  feelings,  aud  to  be  held  and  directed  by  a  determined 
will.     Nature    usually    provides    for  tlie   possibility   of  such  a 
development,  by  proportioning  the  several  endowments  of  the 
soul   to   one   another.      Hence,   a  man   superior  in   intellect   is 
usually  superior  in  the  capacity  for  energetic  feeling  and  effect- 
ive decisions.     If  there  be  a  marked  disproportion  between  any 
one  and  the  others,  we  observe  it  as  irregular  aud  unnatural. 
Anv  such  irregularity  is  sure  to  be  manifest,  and   often  to  be 
strildngly  conspicuous  in  the  development  of  the  powers,  from 
the  weakness  and  limitations  of  infancy  up  to  the  energy  and 
comprehensiveness  of  adult  years.     The  soul  with  a  structure 
strikingly    abnormal    can    not   attain    a    healthy    and    shapely 
growth.     Any  striking  predominance  of  the   intellectual  over 
the  emotional  powers,  or  any  defect  in  energy  of  will,  either 
prevents  an  even  progress,  or  induces  premature  feebleness  or  a 

dwarfish  stature.^ 

Intellect.  —  And   the   thinking   principle  —  or,  at    least, 
that  rather  than   any   other  —  must  be   considered  to  be  each 

man's  self.^ 

Man  is  but  a  reed,  the  weakest  in  nature ;  but  he  is  a  reed 
which  thinks.  The  universe  need  not  rise  in  arms  to  crush 
him;  a  vapor,  a  drop  of  water,  suffices  to  kill  him.  But  were 
the  universe  to  crush  him,  man  would  still  be  greater  than  the 
power  which  killed  him ;  for  he  knows  that  he  dies,  and  of  the 
advantage  which  the  universe  has  over  him  the  universe  knows 

nothing.^ 

Man  is  that  compound  being,  created  to  fill  that  wide  hiatus 
that  must  otherwise   have  remained   unoccupied   between   the 


1  Dr.  Noah  Porter. 


2  AristoUe. 


3  Pascal. 


64 


MAN   AND   1113   RELATIONS. 


natural  world  and  the  spiritual.  .  .  .  Possessing  earth,  hut 
destined  for  heaven,  he  forms  the  link  between  the  two  orders 
of  beings,  and  partakes  much  of  the  grossness  of  the  one,  and 
somewhat  of  the  refinement  of  the  other.  Reason,  like  the 
magnetic  influence  imparted  to  iron,  gives  to  matter  properties 
and  powers  which  it  possessed  not  before,  but  without  extending 
its  bulk,  augmenting  its  weight,  or  altering  its  organization :  it 
is  visible  only  by  its  effects,  and  perceptible  only  by  its  opera- 
tions. Reason,  superadded  to  man,  gives  him  peculiar  and 
characteristic  views,  responsibilities  and  destinations,  exalting 
him  above  all  existences  that  are  visible  but  which  perish,  and 
associating  him  with  those  that  are  invisible  but  which  remain. 
Reason  is  that  Homeric  and  golden  chain  descending  from  the 
throne  of  God  even  unto  man,  uniting  heaven  with  earth,  and 
earth  with  heaven.  For  all  is  connected,  and  without  a  chasm : 
from  an    angel    to    an    atom,  all    is   proportion,  harmony,  and 

strength.^ 

Every  substance  is  negatively  electric  to  that  which  stands 
above  it  in  the  chemical  tables,  positively  to  that  which  stands 
below  it.  AVater  dissolves  wood,  and  iron,  and  salt;  air  dis- 
solves water;  electric  fire  dissolves  air,  but  the  intellect  dissolves 
fire,  gravity,  laws,  method,  and  the  subtlest  unnamed  relations 
of  nature,  in  its  resistless  menstruum.  Intellect  lies  behind 
genius,  which  is  intellect  constructive.  Intellect  is  the  simple 
power  anterior  to  all  action  or  construction.  Gladly  would  I 
unfold  in  calm  degrees  a  natural  history  of  the  intellect,  but 
what  man  has  yet  been  able  to  mark  the  steps  and  boundaries 
of  that  transparent  essence?  The  first  questions  are  always  to 
be  asked,  and  the  wisest  doctor  is  graveled  by  the  inquisitive- 
ncss  of  a  child.  How  can  we  speak  of  the  action  of  the  mind 
under  any  divisions,  as  of  its  knowledge,  of  Its  ethics,  of  its 


»C-lton. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


65 


wo^ks,  and  so  forth,  since  it  melts  wmII  into  perception,  knowl- 
edge into  act?  Each  becomes  the  other.  Itself  alone  is.  Its 
vision  is  not  like  the  vision  of  the  eye,  but  is  union  with  the 
things  known.  Intellect  and  intellection  signify  to  the  common 
car  consideration  of  abstract  truth.  The  consideration  of  time 
and  place,  of  you  and  mo,  of  profit  and  hurt,  tyrannize  over 
most  men's  minds.  Intellect  separates  the  fact  considered  from 
you,  from  all  local  and  personal  reference,  and  discerns  it  as  if 
it  existed  for  its  own  sake.  Heraclitus  looked  upon  the  affec- 
tions as  dense  and  colored  mists.  In  the  fog  of  good  and  evil 
affections,  it  is  hard  for  man  to  w^alk  forward  in  a  straight  line. 
Intellect  is  void  of  affection,  and  sees  an  object  as  it  stands  in 
the  light  of  science,  cool  and  disengaged.  The  intellect  goes 
out  of  the  individual,  floats  over  its  own  personality,  and  regards 
it  as  a  flict,  and  not  as  I  and  mine.  He  who  is  immersed  in 
what  concerns  person  or  place  can  not  see  the  problem  of  ex- 
istence. This  the  intellect  always  ponders.  Nature  shows  all 
things  formed  and  bound.  The  intellect  pierces  the  form,  over- 
leaps the  wall,  detects  intrinsic  likeness  between  remote  things, 
and  reduces  all  things  into  a  few  principles.^ 

Sensibility.— We  all  instinctively  feel  that  a  man  of  pure 
intellect,  however  grand  and  powerful  that  intellect  may  be — a 
man  In  whom  the  rational  too  completely  predominates  over  the 
emotional — is  incomplete  and  unsatisfactory.  He  is  inharmo- 
niously  ckvdopecL  We  shrink  from  these  incarnations  of  mind 
as  somcthiiig  portentous  and  unnatural,  and  leave  them  alone 
in  their  desolate  and  solitary  irrandeur.^ 

The  capacity  of  a  man,  at  least  for  understanding,  may  almost 
be  said  to  vary  according  to  his  powders  of  sympathy.  Again, 
what  is  there  that  can  counteract  selfishness  like  sympathy? 
Selfishness  may  be  hedged  in  by  minute  watchfulness  and  self- 


1  Emerson. 


2  W.  R.  Greg. 


66 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


denial,  but  it  is  counteracted  by  tlic  nature  being  encouraged 
to  grow  out  and  ^ix  its  tendrils  upon  foreign  objects. 

The  immense  defect  that  want  of  sympathy  is  may  be  strik- 
ingly seen  in  the  failure  of  the  many  attempts  that  have  been 
made  in  all  ages  to  construct  the  Christian  character,  omitting 
sympathy.  It  has  produced  numbers  of  people,  walking  up  and 
down  one  narrow  plank  of  self-restraint,  pondering  over  their 
own  merits  and  demerit: ,  keeping  out,  not  the  world  exactly, 
but  their  fellow-creatures,  from  their  hearts,  and  caring  only  to 
drive  their  neighbors  before  them  on  this  pbnk  of  theirs,  or 
to  push  them  headlong.  Thus,  with  many  virtues  and  much 
hard  work  at  the  formation  of  character,  we  have  had  splendid 
bigots  or  censorious  small  people. 

But  sympathy  is  warmth  and  light,  too.     It  is,  as  it  were,  the 
moral    atmosphere    connecting  all  animated    natures.     Putting 
aside,  for  a  moment,  the  large  differences  that  opinions,  language 
and  education  make  between  men,  look  at  the  innate  diversity 
of  character.     Natural    philosophers  were    amazed   when   they 
thought  they  had  found  a  newly-created  species.     But  what  is 
each  man  but  a  creature  such  a3  the  world  ha  5  not  before  seen  ? 
Then  think  how  they  pour  forth  in  multitudinous  masses,  from 
princes,  delicately  nurtured,  to  little  boys  on  scrubby  commons, 
or  in  dark  cellar^!     How  are  thesj  people  to  be  understood,  to 
be  taught  to  understand  each  other,  but  by  those  who  have  the 
deepest  sympathies  with  all  ?    There  can  not  be  a  great  man  with- 
out large  sympathy.     There  may  be  men  who  play  loud-sounding 
parts  in  life  without  it,  as  on  the  stage,  where  kings  and  great 
people  sometimes  enter,  who  are  only  characters  of  secondary 
import— deputy  great  men  ;  but  the  interest  and  the  instruction 
lie  with  those  who  have  to  feel  and  suffer  most.^ 

A  man  without  large  power  of  feeling  is  not  good  for  much 


1  Arthur  Helps. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


67 


as  a  man.     He  may  be  a  good  mathematician,  a  very  respectable 
lawyer,  or  doctor  of  divinity,  but  he  is  not  capable  of  the  high 
and  beautiful   and  holy  things  of  manhood.     He  can  not  even 
comprehend  them;  how  much  less  do  and  become!     It  is  power 
of  feeling,  as  well  as  thought,  which  furnishes  the  substance 
wherewith  the  orator  delights  and  controls  and  elevates  the  mass 
of  men.     Thought  alone  is  never  eloquent ;  it  is  not  enough, 
even  for  the  orator's  purpose ;  he  must  stand  on  the  primeval 
rock  of  human  consciousness,  must  know  by  experience  the  pro- 
f:)undest  feelings  of  men,  their  love,  their  hate,  their  anger, 
their  hope,  their  fear,  and,  above  all  things,  their  love  of  God, 
and  unspeakable  trust  therein.     Feeling,  he  must  make  others 
feel.     Mere  thought  convinces;  feeling  always  persuades.      If 
imagination  furnish  the  jjoet  with  wings,  feeling  is  the  great, 
stout  muscle  which  plies  them,  and  lifts  him  from  the  ground. 
Thought  sees  beauty,  emotion  feels  it.     Every  great  poet  has 
been  distinguished  as  much  for  power  of  emotion  as  power  of 
thought.     Pope  had  more  wisdom  than  Burns,  Pollok  as  much 
as  Wordsworth ;  but  which  are  the  poets  for  the  man's  heart  and 
his  pillow?     In  great  poets  like  Homer,  Dante,  Milton,  Shake- 
speare—noblest of  them  all— there  is  a  great  masterly  power  of 
feeling  joined  to  a  great  masterly  power  to  think.    They  see  and 
feel,  too,  and  have  the  facultv  divine  of  tellino;  what  thev  feel. 
Poetry  and  Eloquence  are  twin  sisters ;  Feeling  Is  their  mother. 
Thought  Is  the  father.     One  is  directed  more  to  beauty;  sits 
still  in  the  house,  her  garlands  and  singing  robes  about  her  all 
the  day.     Tlie  other  is  devoted  more  to   use,  cumbered  with 
much  serving,  wears  a  workdav  suit.     But  thev  liave  the  same 
eye,  the  same  face,  the  same  family  likeness.    Every  great  artist, 
painter   or   sculptor  must  likewise  have  great  power  to   feel. 
Half  the  odds  between  Eaphael  and  a  Chinese  painter  is  in  the 


QS 


MAN   AND   HIS   nELATIONS. 


power  of  feeling.  But  few  men  are  poets,  orators,  sculptors  or 
painters.  I  only  mention  these  to  show  how,  for  the  high  modes 
of  intellectual  activity,  feeling  is  necessary. 

It  is  equally  necessary  for  the  common  life  of  men.     Thought 
and  feeling  both  must  go  to  housekeeping,  or  it  is  a  sad  family. 
The  spiritual  part  of  human  beauty,  man^s  or  woman's,  is  one- 
fifth  an  expression  of  thought,  four-fifths  of  feeling.     The  phil- 
osopher's fiice  is  not  handsome.     Socrates,  John  Locke,  John 
Calvin,  and   Emanuel   Kant   are   good    enough   types  of  mere 
thought— hard  thought,  without  emotion.     It  is  the  power  of 
feeling    which    makes    the    wise   father    attractive,   the    strong- 
minded  mother  dear.     This  joins  relatives  nearer  than  kindred 
blood ;   it  makes  friendship  actual ;   it  is  the  great  element  in 
philanthropy;    it   is  the   fountain   whence   flows  forth   all  that 
which  we  call  piety.     Philanthropy  is  feeling  for  men,  friendship 
is  feeling  with  men,  and  piety  is  feeling  with  God.     All  great 
religious  leaders  have  been   men  of  great  power  of  emotion- 
Mahomet,  Luther,  Loyola,  Wesley,  Whitefield;  and  what  we 
admire  most  in  Jesus  is  not  His  masterly  power  of  thought,  but 
His  genius  for  love,  power  of  feeling  in  its  highest  modes.     His 
intellectual    character   is   certainly  of  great   weight.   His  foot- 
prints are    very    deep;    but    most    meu  do  not  think   of  Jesus 
as    a    great-minded,    a    great-thoughted    man.     ''Neither    do    I 
condemn  thee;  go,  and  sin  no  more;"  "  Father,  forgive  them, 
for  they    know    not   what   they    do;"    thought  alone  had    not 
reached    up    so   high  as  that  in    that    age  and    in    this   young 
man,    but  a    great    mountain    of    spnitaneous    human    feoling 
pressed  on  Him,  and  drove  that  fount  up  to  such  heights  of 

sparkling  piety .^ 

Fine  sensibiliries  are  like  woodbines,  delightful  luxuries  of 
beautv  to  twine  round  a  solid,  iqrright  stem  of  understanding, 


1  rarker. 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


69 


but  very  poor  things,  if,  unsustained  by  strength,  they  are  left 
to  creep  along  the  ground.^ 

Will.  —  Our  wills  are  creators.  As  we  will,  we  come  into 
possession  of  ourselves ;  we  were  not  selves,  but  things^  without 
these.  The  will  is  Personal.  The  having  a  will  difierences  man 
from  animals.^ 

If  the  will,  which  is  the  law  of  our  nature,  were  withdrawn 
from  our  memory,  fancy,  understanding,  and  reason,  no  other 
hell  could  equal,  for  a  spiritual  being,  what  w^e  should  then  feel 
from  the  anarchy  of  our  powers.  It  would  be  conscious  mad- 
ness— a  horrid  thought !  ^ 

And  w^hat  shall  we  sav  of  the  will?  which  savs  to  the  wilder- 
ness,  bloom,  and  it  is  as  the  garden  of  Eden;  which  says  to  the 
mountain,  be  open,  and  the  bowels  of  the  rock  are  blasted  out; 
w^iich  makes  a  path  through  the  sea,  and  a  pillar  of  cloud  and 
fire,  or  an  iron  pathway  through  the  desert;  which  tameth  the 
tiger,  and  maketh  a  plaything  of  the  lion;  which  grasps  the 
impending  thunderbolt,  and  hides  its  powerless  flash  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth?  And  O  what  awful  power  does  the  will 
sometimes  exert  within  the  dominions  of  the  soul!  See  that 
martyr  laid  upon  the  rack !  Every  limb  is  stretched,  and  every 
nerve  thrills  with  agony.  A  single  word,  and  the  prisoner  will 
be  relieved  and  restored  to  his  friends.  How  shall  we  avoid 
uttering:  it?  Will  not  his  intellect  rebel?  Will  not  his  heart  crv 
out?  Will  not  his  tongue,  for  an  instant,  break  loose?  Wait 
and  see.  Hark !  the  heavv  instrument  falls,  and  a  bone  is 
broken,  and  the  sharp  fragments  pierce  through  the  quivering 
flesh.  An  interval  follows — a  dreadful  interval — and,  in  the 
midst  of  the  agony,  the  executioner  demands  the  word  of  recan- 
tation; but  that  tongue,  which  utters  forth  groans  that  make  a 
city  shudder,  lisps    not  a  syllable.     Slowly  the  instrument  de- 


1  John  Foster. 


2Alcott 


3  Milton. 


70 


HAN   AND   HIS   KELATIONS. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


71 


scends  again,  and  another  bone  is  broken,  and  anotlier,  till  every 
limb  is  in   fragments,   and    the  whole  body  lies    lacerated  and 
bleeding;  and  now  the  exeeutioner  approaches,  and  the  dews  of 
death    are   upon   the    martyr's   brow,  and    though    the    tongue 
speaks  sweetly  and  freely  of  Jesus,  and  of  the  hmd  where  the 
weary  rest,  it  is  mute  as  the  grave  as  to  recantation.     Zeno,  on 
the  rack,  lest  his  tongue  should  betray  him,  bit  it  off,  and  spit  it 
out  in  the  face  of  his  judge.     The  human  will  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  sublime  of  all  things.     That  power  which  wields  the  light- 
ning and  moves  the  storm,  which  scatters  worlds  through  space 
as  the  husbandman  casts  seed  into  the  farrow,  which  by  a  look 
of  terror  could  blast  the  universe,  suffers  the  will  of  man  to  rise 
up  against  itself.     How  terrible  looks  the  fabled  Atreus,  glutted 
with  his  banquet  of  revenge,  when  the  justice  of  the  gods  comes 
djwn  upon  the  feast!     Bolt  after  bolt  falls  on  every  side,  yet  the 
untamed  will  of  the  rebel,  as  if  in  triumph,  looks  up  from  the 
sea   of  fire,   and   cries,    "Thunder,    ye   powerless   gods!  I  am 
aveno-edl  "     And  such  a  scene — vea,  and  more  dreadful — do  we 
see  every  day  enacted  in  the  sinner's  breast,  where  the  will  sits 
amid  the  ruins  of  the  soul,  an  outcast  from  God,  and,  though  on 
earth,  like   Satan    in    the    pit,  saying,  in    its    desolation     as    it 
approaches  the  tomb, 

"  Hail,  horrors !  hail, 
Infernal  world !  and  thou,  profoundest  hell, 
Receive  thy  new  possessor."  ^ 

^Vhat  constitutes  strength  of  will  ?  It  is  that  quality  of  the 
mind  which  is  prompt  to  decide,  and,  having  decided,  can  not 
be  moved  from  its  purpose,  but  holds  on  through  evil  report 
and  good  report;  overcomes  obstacles;  shrinks  from  no  diffi- 

1  Bishop  Thomson. 


culty;  relies  on  its  own  judgment;  does  not  yield  to  fashion — 
and  so  presses  to  its  mark  always. 

Strength  of  will  is  the  power  to  resist,  to  persist,  to  endure,  to 
attack,  to  conquer  obstacles,  to  snatch  success  from  the  jaws  of 
death  and  despair.  It  is  the  most  vital  element  in  character. 
It  is  essential  to  excellence ;  for  of  him  who  has  it  not  it  must 
be  said:  "  Unstable  41s  water,  thou  shall  not  excel."  A  man  of 
weak  will  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  last  opinion;  is  unable  to  make 
up  his  mind,  or,  having  made  it  up,  to  keep  to  it.  He  is  unde- 
cided, and  can  not  decide.  He  sees  the  right,  and  drifts  toward 
the  wrong.  He  determines  on  a  course  of  conduct,  and  then 
quits  it  on  the  first  temptation.  AVcak  as  a  breaking  wave,  a 
helpless  idler,  wax  to  take  a  stamp  from  anytliing  stronger  than 
himself,  if  he  adopts  a  right  course,  it  is  only  by  accident;  and 
if  he  is  virtuous,  it  is  only  a  piece  of  good  luck.^ 

Moral  Sense. — Assuredly  it  is  not  intellect  or  reason  merely 
in  its  purely  cognitive  and  speculative  form  which  makes  a  man 
a  man,  and  not  a  monkey — a  creature  with  a  certain  power  of 
shaping  his  own  destinies  and  realizing  his  own  self-projected 
ideal.  Man  is  essentially  a  practical  animal;  he  grows  naturally 
up  into  a  state  and  a  church,  and  every  variety  of  organized 
action ;  and  to  be  practical  he  must  be  moral,  for  practice  with- 
out morality  is  only  another  name  for  confusion,  anarchy,  and 
self-destruction.^ 

Man  is  made  of  two  parts  —  the  physical  part,  and  the 
moral.  The  former  he  has  in  common  with  the  brute  creation. 
Like  theirs,  our  corporeal  pains  ai"e  very  limited  and  tempo- 
rary. But  the  sufferings  which  touch  our  moral  nature  have 
a  wider  range,  and  are  infinitely  more  acute,  driving  the  suf- 
ferers sometimes  to  the  extremities  of  despair  and  distraction. 
Man,  in  his  moral  nature,  becomes,  in  his  progress  through  life, 

1  James  Freeman  Clarke.      2  Blackie. 


'4 


72 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


a  creature  of  prejudice,  a  creature  of  opinions,  a  creature  of 
habits,  and  of  sentiments  growing  out  of  them.  These  form  our 
second  nature,  as  inhabitants  of  the  country  and  members  of  the 
society  in  which  Providence  has  phiced  us.^ 

There  is  a  moral  sense  by  which  we  perceive  the  distinction 
between  good  and  bad,  right  and  wrong,  just  as  by  the  physical 
sense  we  perceive  the  distinction  between  black  and  white.    The 
idea  of  right  and  wrong  is  universal.     There  is  no  man  so  bad 
as  not  to  recognize  evil  in  another,  if  not  in  himself.     All  the 
world  over,  in  all  lands  and  all  languages,  men  use  the  words 
^^luly,'^   '^justice,''  ^^  right,"  "wrong,"  "ought,"  "ought  not." 
Everywhere  there  is  found  in  man  traces  of  conscience,  reward- 
ing him  when  lie  does  what  he  believes  to  be  right,  punishing 
him  with  remorse  when  he  does  what  he  thinks  to  be  wrong. 
People   differ  as  to   what   is   right   and   what  is  wrong.      The 
standard   varies,  the  law  differs.     Yet  there  has  never  been  a 
nation  or  race  which  did  not  approve  courage,  truth,  generosity, 
honesty;  did  not  despise  cowardice,  falsehood,  selfishness,  dis- 
honesty.    A  North  American    Indian,  a  Spanish  inquisitor,  a 
Southern  slaveholder,  or  an  absolute  despot,  will  torture  human 
beings  from  pleasure,  from  principle,   or,  as  he  thinks,  from 
necessity ;  but  not  one  of  them  approves  cruelty  in  others,  or  in 
general.     So   men  will   lie  in   business,  for  their    religion,  for 
their  friends,  for  their  own  safety;  but  no  one  approves  of  lying 
in  itself.     Each   man  disapproves  it  in  every  one  but  himself, 
and  in  every  case  except  his  own  case. 

In  all  souls  there  is  this  instinctive  sense  of  right  and  wrong. 
If  there  were  not,  morality,  could  not  exist,  and  society  would 
be  impossible.  For  morality  is  nothing  if  it  is  not  respect  for 
right  and  duty,  apart  from  all  rewards  they  may  bring.  A  man 
who  only  does  right  because  he  is  afraid  of  punishment  if  he 


1  Burke. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


73 


does  wrong,  or  because  he  hopes  for  some  reward  here  or  here- 
after for  doing  right,   does  not.  act  conscientiously  at  all;  he 
merely  acts  selfishly.     Society  is  held  together  by  conscience. 
See  that  laborer,  uneducated,  poor,  who  has  been  working  ten 
hours  a  day  since  he  was  a  child,  and  can  only  just  support  him- 
self.    What  makes  him  industrious,  temperate,  honest,  orderly, 
instead  of  being  an  idle  wretch,  ready  for  any  crime?     Is  It  the 
fear  of  the  police  and  the  prison  ?     No.     The  great  mass  of  men 
support  order   and  law  because  they  think  it  right  to  do  so; 
because  conscience  tells  them  to  do  so.     A  few  scoundrels  are 
kept  from  being  too  scoundrelly  by  the  police  and  the  prison; 
the  great  mass  of  men  never  think  of  the  police  or  prison,  but 
do  right  because  dMty  tells  them  to.     It  is  an  evil  for  a  nation 
when  conscience  takes  the   side  of  rebellion,  when  law  seems 
tyranny !     The  deep  corner-stone  of  republican  institutions  is 
faith  in  a  universal  conscience.     You  give  all  the  power  to  the 
majority  of  the  people.     What  is  to  prevent  them  from  tyran- 
nizing over  you?     The  majority  are  poor;  only  a  minority  are 
rich.     What  is  to  prevent  them  from  voting  themselves  your 
houses   and   lands?     Nothing   but   conscience,  the  instinct  ot 
right.     Now,  we  have  proved  in  this  country  that  there  are  no 
institutions  so  stable  as  a  democracy.     In  proving  this,  we  have 
at  the  same  time  proved  transcendentalism :  that  is,  that  all  men 

have  a  conscience.^ 

Society  is  an  organism,  as  much  as  a  plant  or  an  animal,  and, 
as  such,  exists  only  by  the  cohesive  power  of  certain  moral  laws, 
the  cessation  of  whose  action  would  instantly  be  followed  by  its 
resolution  into  an  aggregate  of  hostile,  confounding,  and  mutu- 
ally exterminating  elements.  One  does  not  require  to  travel  to 
Buh^aria,  or  to  be  familiar  with  Turkish  misgovernment,  or  no 
government,  in  any  part  of  the  world,  to  be  made  startlingly 


1  Clarke. 


74 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN 


75 


alive  to  the  fact  that  the  normal  state  of  human  gregarionsness, 
uhich  we  call  society,  may  at  any  moment  cease  when  the  cement 
of  society,  which  we  call  sympathy,  ceases  to  act,  and  the  con- 
trolling power  of  justice  or  practical  reason  is  disowned.     Man 
is    man    essentially  and    characteristically    by   his    consistent, 
reasonable  action  in  relation  to  his  fellows;  in  other  words,  by 
acknowled^nii'T  the  moral  law.     The  moment  he  throws  this  law 
aside  he  becomes  a  beast,  a  tiger  or  a  fox,  or  a  combination  of 
the  two,  with  thj  addition  of  intellectual  ingenuity  to  make  the 
fjrocity  of  the  tiger  more  systematic,  and  the  cunning  of  the  fox 
more  treacherous.     And  thus,  as  Mephistopheles  says  in  Faust, 
he  becomes  ''more  brutish  than  any  brute  caji  be"— becomes 
transformed,  in  fact,  into  a  fiend,  a  demon  or  a  devil,'  in  the 
fashion  of  which  the  records  of  our  criminal  courts,  and  the  lives 
of  unbridLnl  men,  drunk  with  power  and  pleasure  in  high  places, 
furnish  only  too  numerous  examples.     There  can  be  no  doubt, 
therefore,  that  man  is  by  the  constitution  of  his  nature  essentially 

a  moral  animal.^ 

The  same  law  of  evolution,  which  we  have  seen  governing  the 
history  of  speculative  thought,  may  also  be  traced  as  determining 
the  progress  of  ethical  inquiry.     In  this  department  there  are 
successive  stages  marked,  both  in  the  individual  and  the  national 
mind.     There   is,  first,  the   simplicity  and   trust  of  childhood, 
submitting  with  unquestioning  fiiith  to  prescribed  and  arbitrary 
laws;  then  the  unsettled  and  ill-directed  force  of  youth,  ques- 
tioning the  authority  of  laws,  and  asking  reasons  why  this  or 
that  is  obligatory ;  then  the  philosophic  wisdom  of  riper  years, 
recognizing    an   inherent  law  of  duty,  which  has  an   absolute 
rightness  and  an  imperative  obligation.     There  is  first  a  dim  and 
shadowy  apprehension  of  some  lines  of  moral   distinction,  and 
some  consciousness  of  obligation,  but  these  rest  mainly  upon  an 

XBlackie. 


outwnrd  la^v-thc  observed  practice  of  others,  or  the  command 
of  the  parent  as,  in  some  sense,  the  command  of  God.     Then,  to 
attain  to  personal  convictions,  man  passes  through  a  stage   of 
doubt;  he  asks  for  a  ground  of  obligation,  for  an  authority  that 
shall  approve  itself  to  his  own  judgment  and  reason.     At  last  he 
arrives  at  some   ultimate    principles  of  right,  some  imn.utable 
standard  of  duty ;  he  recognizes  an  inward  law  of  cousc.enee, 
and  it  becomes  to  him  as  the  voice  of  God.     He   extends  h>s 
analysis  to  history,  and  he  finds  that  the  universal  conscience  of 
the  race  has,  in  all  ages,  uttered  the  same  behest.' 

Man  is  but  a  little  thing  in  the  muU  of  the  objects  of  nature. 
Yet,  Uv  the  moral  quality  radiating  from  his  countenance,  he 
may'  abolish  all  considerations  of  magnitude,  and,  in  his  man- 
ners, equal  the  majesty  of  the  world.^ 

Gexius.— The  whole  difference  between  a  man  of  genius  and 
other  men,  it  has  been  said  a  thousand  times,  and  most  truly,  is 
that  the  first  remains  in  great  part  a  child,  seeing  with  the  large 
eyes  of  children,  in  perpetual  wonder,  not  conscious  of  much 
knowledge-conscious,  rather,  of  infinite  ignorance,  and  yet 
infinite  power ;  a  fountain  of  eternal  admiration,  delight,  and 
creative  force  within  him  meeting  the  ocean  of  visible  and 
governable  things  around  him.' 

What  we  call  genius  may,  perhaps,  with  more  strict  propriety, 
be  described  as  the  spirit  of  discovery.  Genius  is  the  very  eye 
of  intellect  and  the  wing  of  thought.  It  is  always  in  advance 
of  its  time.  It  is  the  pioneer  for  the  generation  which  it  pre- 
cedes.    For  this  reason  it  is  called  a  seer ;  and  hence  its  songs 

have  been  prophecies."  .      ,^  „     r  ,i,- 

But  on  the  whole,  "genius  is  ever  a  secret  to  itself;  of  this 
old  truth  we  have,  on  all  sides,  daily  evidence.  The  Shake- 
speare takes  no  airs  for  writing  Hamlet  and  the  Tempest;  under- 


1  Cocker. 


2  Emerson. 


8  Ruskin. 


4  Simms. 


76 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


Stands  not  that  it  is  anything  surprising:  Milton,  again,  is  more 
conscious  of  his  flicuhy,  which,  accordingly,  is  an  inferior  one. 
On  the  other  hand,  what  cackling  and  strutting  must  we  not 
often  hear  and  see,  when,  in  some  shape  of  academical  profusion, 
maiden  speech,  review  article,  tiiis  or  the  other  well-fledged 
goose  has  produced  its  goose-egg,  of  quite  measurable  value, 
were  it  the  pink  of  its  whole  kind,  and  wonders  why  all 
mortals  do  not  wonder !  ^ 

The  advent  of  genius  is  like  what  florists  style  the  breaking  of 
a  seedliuiT  tulip  into  what  we  mav  call  high-caste  colors — ten 
thousand  diugy  flowers,  then  one  with  the  divine  streak;  or,  if 
you  prefer  it,  like  the  coming  up  in  old  Jacob's  garden  of  that 
most  gentlemanly  little  fruit,  the  seckel  pear,  which  I  have 
sometimes  seen  in  shop  windows.  It  is  a  surprise — there  is 
nothing  to  account  for  it.     All  at  once  we  find  that   twice  two 

makes  five.^ 

Genius  is  that  power  of  man  which  by  deeds  and  actions  gives 
laws  and  rules.  When  auy  one  rushed  into  the  world  on  foot 
without  knowing  precisely  why  or  whither,  it  was  called  a 
journey  of  a  genius;  and  when  any  one  undertook  some  absurd- 
ity without  aim  or  advantage,  it  was  a  stroke  of  genius.^ 

The  man  of  genius  invents  and  originates,  making  new  forms 
out  of  the  commonest  material.  He  finds  general  laws  in  facts 
that  have  been  familiar  to  everybody  since  the  world  Avas.  All 
the  neighbors  ir.  Crotona  twenty-three  hundred  years  ago  heard 
the  two  village  blacksmiths  beat  the  anvil,  one  with  the  great 
hammer,  and  the  other  with  the  small  one;  Pythagoras  took  the 
hint  from  that  rhythmic  beat,  and  l)rought  the  harmonic  scale  of 
music  out  from  the  blacksmith's  "ten  pound  ten.''  Every  boy 
sees  that,  in  a  right-angled  triangle,  the  largest  side  is  opposite 
the  square  angle ;  but  Pythagoras  discovered  that  if  you  draw 


1  Carlyle. 


8  0.  W.  Holmes. 


3  Goethe. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


77 


three  square  figures,  each  as  long  as  the  three  several   sides  of 
this  triangle,  the  hirgest  square  will  be  as  big  as  both  the  others. 
It  was  one  of  the  grandest  discoveries  of  mathematical  science. 
Every  priest  in  the  Cathedral  of  Pisa  two  hundred  and  seventy 
years  ago,  and  all  the  women  and  children  at  Christmas,  saw  the 
great  lamps  which  hung  from  the  ceiling,  some  by  a  longer,  and 
some  by  a  shorter  chain ;  they  saw  them  swing  in  the  wind  that 
came  in  with  the  crowd,  as  the  Christmas  doors,  storied  all  over 
with  mediaeval  fictions,  were  opened  wide.     None  but  the  genius 
of  Galileo  saw  that  the  motion   of  these   swinging  lamps  was 
always  uniform  and  in  proportion  to  the  length  of  the  cliains, 
the  lamp  with  the  longest  chain  swinging  slowest,  and  that  with 
the  shortest  completing  quickest  its  vibration.     He  alone  saw 
that  the   swinging   lamps  not    only  distributed   light,  but   also 
kept  time,  and  each  was  a  great  clock,  whereof  he  alone  had  the 
dial,  and  the  hand  pointed  to  the  hour  in  his  mind.     Nay,  for 
five  hundred  years  in  that  great  Cathedral  these  lamps,  swinging 
slowlv  to  and  fro,  had  been  proclaiming  the  law  of  gravitation, 
but  Galileo  was  the  first  man  who  heard  it.     All  the  farmers  in 
Cambridgeshire  saw  apples  fall  every  autumn  day,  and  a  hun- 
dred astronomers  scattered  through  Europe  knew  that  the  earth 
moved  around  the  sun;  but  only  one  man,  by  his  genius,  saw 
that  the  earth  moved  and  apples  fell  by  the  same  gravitation, 
and  obeved  the  same  universal  law.     There  were  tw^o  or  three 
thousand  ministers  in  England  two  hundred  years  ago — educated 
men— and  they  were  preaching  with  all  their  might,  and  trying 
to    make    the    popular   theology    go    down    with   the    reluctant 
Anglo-Saxon  people,  who  hate  nonsense.     How  dull  their  ser- 
mons—telling the  people  that  man  was  a  stranger  and  pilgrim 
on  earth,  with  their  talk  about  Abraham's  faith,  and  their  quo- 
tations from  tiie  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews!     How  dead  they  are 


78 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


now,  those  dreadful  sermons  of  the  seventeenth  century — save 
here  and  there  a  magnificent  word  from  Jeremy  Taylor  or  Robert 
South  !  How  dead  they  were  then — abortive  sermons,  that  died 
before  they  were  spoken  !  But  a  common  tinker,  with  no  educa- 
tion, often  in  low  company,  hated  for  being  religious,  and  for 
more  than  twelve  years  shut  up  in  jail,  writes  therein  the  ^^  Pil- 
grim\s  Progress,"  which  makes  Calvinism  popular,  and  is  still  the 
most  living  book  which  got  writ  in  that  century  of  England's 
great  men,  when  Shakespeare,  and  Milton,  and  Herbert,  and 
Bacon,  and  Taylor,  were  cradled  in  lier  arms.  Adam  Smith 
takes  the  common  facts  known  to  all  gazetteers,  the  national 
income  and  expenditures,  the  exports  and  imports,  manufactures, 
the  increase  of  population,  etc.,  and  by  his  genius  sees  the  law 
of  political  economy,  and  makes  national  housekeeping  into 
science.  Shakespeare  picks  up  the  common  talk  of  the  village, 
what  happens  to  everybody — birth,  love,  hope,  fear,  sorrow, 
death — and  then  what  marvelous  tragedies  does  he  make  out  of 
the  drama  of  every  man's  life !  They  tell  a  story  of  a  man  in 
Greece  who,  one  day,  walking  along  the  seashore,  picked  up  the 
empty  shell  of  a  tortoise,  with  a  few  of  the  tendons  still  left, 
and  found  it  gave  a  musical  note  as  he  touched  it;  he  then  drew 
threads  across  it  from  side  to  side,  and  out  of  the  corded  shell 
invented  musical  instruments.  Fire  and  water  are  as  old  as 
creation,  and  have  been  in  man's  hands  some  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  years,  I  suppose ;  there  was  not  a  savage  nation  in 
Asia  or  America  but  had  them.  Men  have  married  these  two 
antagonistic  elements  together  for  many  a  thousand  years,  and 
water  boils.  But  from  these  two  Robert  Fulton  breeds  a  giant 
who  is  the  mightiest  servant  of  mankind,  altering  the  face  of 
nature  and  the  destination  of  man.  Everv  chemist  knew  that 
certain  substances  were  sensitive  to  light,  and  changed  their  color 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


79 


by  day;  nay,  every  farmer's  daughter  knew  that  March  wind 
and  May  sun  made  cloth  white  and  faces  brown.  But  Xiepce 
and  Daguerre  had  such  genius  that  they  took  advantage  of  this 
fact,  and  set  the  sun  to  paint  pictures  in  forty  seconds.  King 
Charlemagne,  not  being  able  to  writa  when  called  upon  to  sign 
his  name,  daubed  his  palm  from  the  ink-horn,  and  put  his  hand 
on  the  document,  the  great  sign-manual  of  that  giant  emperor. 
^\iy,  five  hundred  years  before  Moses,  kings  had  seals  with  their 
names  engraven  thereon,  and  stamped  them  on  wax.  Thirty- 
five  hundred  years  later,  the  genius  of  Faustus  puts  together  a 
thousand  of  these  seals,  a  letter  on  each,  and  therefrom  makes  a 
23rinted  Bible.  How  hard  they  tugged  at  the  bow-string  and 
plied  the  catapult  to  knock  down  the  walls  of  a  town  in  the 
middle  ages!  Schwartz  makes  gunpowder,  and  cross-bows  and 
catapults  go  out  of  fashion. 

These  are  men  of  genius ;  men  of  talent  could  never  have 
accomplished  these  results  which  I  have  mentioned.  These  are 
the  men  who  really  command  the  world,  the  original  thinkers. 
There  are  not  a  great  many  of  them.  It  seems  necessary  that 
seven-eighths  of  man's  life  shall  be  routine,  doing  to-day  what  we 
did  yesterday;  the  same  old  thing  over  and  over  again.  But 
now  and  then  the  great  God  raises  up  one  man  of  genius  In  a 
million,  who  shovels  away  the  snow,  and  makes  a  path  where  all 
men  can  vralk,  clean-footed  and  drv-shod.  Let  us  reverence  these 
men.  Speaking  practically,  genius  is  power  of  construction — 
power  to  originate  and  create  new  forms  out  of  old  matter,  new 
matter  out  of  human  nature.  Speaking  philosophically,  or  by 
analysis,  genius  Is  great  power  of  instinct,  spontaneous  intuition. 
That  Is  the  element  of  necessity,  as  it  were,  in  genius.  It  is, 
next,  great  power  of  conscious  reflection,  great  imagination  in  its 
greatest  forms,  great  attention,  the  power  to  bend  all  the  facul- 


80 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ties  to  the  special  task  in  haiul.  This  is  the  element  of  freedom 
in  genius.  Genius  kno^YS  the  thing  which  it  works  upon  and 
produces ;  not  always  does  it  know  itself.  The  same  man  is 
seldom  synthetic  to  create,  and  analytic  to  expLain  the  process 
of  creation.  Homer  and  Shakespeare  know  how  to  make  poetry, 
but  not  how  they  make  it ;  the  art,  not  the  analytic  explanation. 
Yet  others  have  the  genius  for  self-knowledge,  power  of  analytic 
consciousness ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  the  poet  and  the  philoso- 
pher lodge  in  the  same  body.  This  human  house  of  clay  \i  not 
large,  nor  strongly  walled  enough,  nor  nice  enough,  to  entertain 
two  such  royal  guests.  Human  nature  is  too  great  to  be  made 
perfect,  all  parts  of  it,  in  a  single  man : 

"  One  science  only  will  one  genius  fit, 
So  vast  is  art,  so  narrow  human  wit." 

As,  analytically  speaking,  genius  is  power  of  instinctive  intui- 
tion, and  power  of  conscious  reflection,  so,  practically,  it  is  the 
highest  power  of  work,  power  of  spontaneous  work,  j)ower  of 
voluntary  work ;  and  it  is  this  w^iich  unites  the  womanly 
intuition  with  manly  reflection.  Genius  is  God's  highest  gift 
to  man.^ 

Genius  is  religious.  It  is  a  larger  imbibing  of  the  common 
heart.  It  is  not  anomalous,  but  more  like,  and  not  less  like, 
other  men.  There  is,  in  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity 
which  is  superior  to  any  talents  they  exercise.  The  author,  the 
wit,  the  partisan,  the  fine  gentleman,  does  not  take  place  of  the 
man.  Humanity  shines  in  Homer,  in  Chaucer,  in  Spenser,  in 
Shakespeare,  in  Milton.  They  are  content  with  truth.  They 
use  the  positive  degree.  They  seem  frigid  and  phlegmatic  to 
those  who  have  been  spiced  with  the  frantic  passion  and  violent 
col')ring  of  inferior  but  popular  writers.' 


1  Parker. 


'  Emerson. 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


81 


And  what  is  Genius  but  finer  love — a  love  impersonal,  a  love 
of  the  flower  and  ])crfection  of  things,  and  a  desire  to  draw  a  new 
picture  or  copy  of  the  same?  It  looks  to  the  cause  and  life  ;  it 
proceeds  from  within  outward,  whilst  Talent  goes  from  without 
inward.  Talent  finds  its  models,  methods,  and  ends  in  society, 
exists  for  exhibition,  and  goes  to  the  soul  only  for  power  to  work. 
Genius  is  its  own  end,  and  draws  its  means  and  the  style  of  its 
architecture  from  within,  going  abroad  only  for  audience  and 
spectator,  as  we  adapt  our  voice  and  phrase  to  the  distance  and 
character  of  the  ear  we  speak  to.  All  your  learning  of  all  litera- 
tures would  never  enable  you  to  anticipate  one  of  its  thoughts 
or  exju'cssions;  and  yet  each  is  natural  and  familiar  as  household 
words.  Hero  about  ns  coils  forever  the  ancient  enigma,  so  old 
and  so  unutterable.  Behold  !  there  is  the  sun,  and  the  rain,  and 
the  rocks  :  the  old  sun,  the  old  stones.  How  easy  were  it  to 
describe  all  this  fitly!  yet  no  word  can  pass.  Nature  is  a  mute, 
and  man,  her  articulate  speaking  brother,  lo  !  he  also  is  a  mute. 
Yet  when  Genius  arrives,  its  speech  is  like  a  river;  it  has  no 
straining  to  describe,  more  than  there  is  straining  in  nature  to 
exist.  When  thought  is  best,  there  is  most  of  it.  Genius  sheds 
wisdom  like  perfume,  and  advertises  us  that  it  flows  out  of  a 
deeper  source  than  the  foregoing  silence ;  that  it  knows  so 
deeply  and  speaks  so  musically,  because  it  is  itself  a  mutation 
of  the  thing  it  describes.  It  is  sun  and  moon  and  wave  and 
fire  in  music,  as  astronomy  is  thought  and  harmony  in  masses 
of  matter.^ 

Talent. — Every  man  can  not  say,  write,  discover  something 
new.  Nature,  that  loving  mother,  has  sown  original  genius  of 
that  sort  very  sparingly,  and  if  in  a  century,  on  any  special 
subject,  more  than  one  springs  up,  it  may  be  regarded  as  a 
miracle.     But  to  collect,  arrange,  boil,  and  roast,  what  has  once 


Ibid. 


82 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


THE    NATURE   OF   MAN. 


83 


been  brouglit  forwiird,  so  that  it  may  be  well  flavored  and  easily 
digested  by  this  man  and  that,  plenty  of  people  are  found,  who 
of  their  kind  are  not  born  in  vain. 

There  is  one  class  of  uncommon  persons  who  have  more  of 
what    everybody    has    a  little.     They    dift'er    from    the    rest    in 
quantity,  not  in  kind.     They  do  as  other  men,  but  better  and 
stronger.     They  create  nothing  new,  originate  nothing;  but  they 
understand  the'actual,  they  apply  another  man\s  original  thought, 
develop  and  improve  the  old,  execute  much,  invent  little.     They 
say  what  somebody  else  said  and  thought  originally.     They  say 
what  the  great  mass  of  the  people  think  and  can  not  yet  say.     A 
man  of  this  sort  comes  very  close  to  the  outside  of  men.     That  is 
the    man  of  talent.     Speaking    practically,  talent    is    executive 
power  in  its  various  modes;  it  is  ability  to  adapt  means  to  ends. 
On  analysis,  vou  find  it  is  not  superior  power  of  instinct  and 
spontaneous    intuition,    but    on'y    superior    power    of  conscious 
reflection,  power  to  know  by  intellectual  process,  to  calculate, 
and  to  express  the  knowledge  and  the  calculation.     It  is  a  great 
gift,  no  doubt.     It  is  men  of  great  talent  who  seem  to  control  the 
world,  for  they  occupy  the  headlands  of  society.     In  a  nation 
like  ours,  they^occupy  the  high  positions  of  trade  and  politics,  of 
literature,  church,  and  state.     Talent  is  jls  variable  in  its  modes 
of  manifestation  as  the  occupations  and  interests  of  men.     There 
mav  be  talent  for  war,  for  productive  industry,  for  art,  philoso- 
phy, politics,  also  for  religion.     There  are  always  a  few  men  of 
marked  talent  in  every  community.     With  the  advance  of  man- 
kind, the  average  ability  continually  greatens;  it  is  immensely 
more'   in    Xew    England   to-day   than   it  was  in    Palestine  two 
thousand    years  ago;    but  the  number  who  overpass  the  broad 
level  whicli  mankind  stands  upon,  I  suppose,  bears  about  the 
same  ratio  at  all  seasons  to  the  whole  mass.^ 


1  George  Forster. 


2  Parker. 


0r 


Genius  is  of  the  soul,  talent  of  the  understanding.     Genius  is 
warm,  talent  is  passionless.     Without  genius  there  is  no  intu- 
ition, no  inspiration  ;    without  talent,  no  execution.     Genius  is 
interior,    talent    exterior;    hence    genius    is    productive,    talent 
accumulative.      Genius    invents,    talent    accomplishes.      Genius 
gives  the  substance ;  talent  works  it  up  under  the  eye,  or,  rather 
under  the  feeling  of  genius.    Genius  is  emotional,  talent  intellect- 
ual; hence  genius  is  creative,  and  talent  instrumental.     Genius 
has    insight,    talent    only    outsight.      Genius    is    always    calm, 
reserved,  self-centered;  talent  is  often  bustling,  officious,  confi- 
dent.    Genius  gives  the  impulse  and  aim  as  well  as  the  illumina- 
tion, talent  the  means  and  implements.     Genius,  in  short,  is  the 
central,  finer  essence  of  the  mind,  the  self-lighted  fire,  the  intu- 
itional gift.     Talent  gathers  and  shapes  and  applies  what  genius 
forges.     Talent  is  ever  approaching,  and  yet  never  reaches,  that 
point  whence  genius  starts.     Genius  is  often  entirely  ridit,  and 
is  never  wholly  Avrong;  talent  is  never  wholly  right.     Genius 
avails  itself  of  all  the  capabilities  of  talent,  appropriates  to  itself 
what  suits  and  helps  it.     Talent  can  appropriate  to  itself  noth- 
ing; for  it  has  not  the  inward  heat  that  can  fuse  all  material,  and 
assimilate  all  food,  to  convert  it  into  blood ;  this  only  genius  can 
do.     Goethe   was  a  man  of  genius,  and,  at  the   same   time,  of 
immense  and  varied  talents;    and  no  contemporary  })rofited  so 
much  as  he  did    by    all    the    knowledges    and    discoveries   and 
accumulations  made  by  others.     For  full  success  the  two,  genius 
and  talent,  should  co-exist  in  one  mind  in  balanced  proportions, 
as  they  did  in  Goethe's,  so  that  they  can  play  smoothly  together 
in  effective  combination.    In  Walking  Stewart,  says  De  Quincev, 
genius  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  talent,  and  thus  wanted  an 
organ  for  manifesting  itself.  ^ 

Duality.  —  As  there  is  much  beast  and  some  devil  in  man, 

» G.  II.  Calvert. 


84 


MAN   AND   HIS   RKLATIOXS. 


80  is  tlierc  some  angel  and  some  God  in  liim.     The  beast  and 
the   devil    may    be    conquered,  but,  in   this    life,   never    wholly 

destroyed.^ 

Now  the  basest  thought  possible  concerning  man  is,  that  he 
has  no  spiritual  nature;  and  the  foolishest  misunderstanding  of 
him  possible  is,  that  he  has,  or  should  have,  no  animal  nature. 
For  his  nature  is  nobly  animal,  nobly  spiritual— coherently  and 
irrevocably  so ;  neither  part  of  it  may,  but  at  its  peril,  expel, 
despise,  or  defy  the  other.- 

There  are  none  of  us  but  must  be  living  two  lives  — and  the 
sooner  we  come  to  recognize  the  flict  clearly  the  better  for  us  — 
the  one  life  in  the  outward  material  world,  in  contact  with  the 
things  which  we  can  see,  and  taste,  and  handle,  which  are  always 
changing  and  passing  away;  the  other  in  the  invisible,  in  contact 
with  the  unseen— with  that  which  does  not  change  or  pass 
away,  which  is  the  same   yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever.^ 

Man's  twofold  nature  is  reflected  in  history.  ''He  is  of 
earth,''  br.t  his  thoughts  are  with  the  stars.  Mean  and  petty 
his  wants  and  his  desires;  yet  they  serve  a  soul  exalted  with 
grand,  glorious  aims,  with  immortal  longings,  with  thoughts 
which  sweep  the  heavens,  end  'Grander  through  eternity."  A 
pigmy  standing  on  the  outward  crust  of  this  small  planet,  his 
far-reaching  spirit  stretches  outward  to  the  infinite,  and  there 
alone  finds  rest.  History  is  a  reflex  of  this  double  life.  Every 
epoch  has  two  aspects  —  one  calm,  broad,  and  solemn,  looking 
toward  eternity ;  the  other  agitated,  petty,  vehement,  and  con- 
fused, looking  toward  time."* 

There  is  in  man  a  continual  conflict  between  his  reason  and 
his  passions.  He  might  enjoy  tranquillity  to  a  certain  extent, 
were  he  mastered  by  either  of  these  singly.  If  he  had  reason 
without  passion,  or  passion  without  reason,  he  might  have  some 


Coleridge. 


2  Kuskin. 


-Thomas  Hughes. 


4  Carlyle. 


THE    NATURE   OF   MAN. 


85 


degree  of  peace;  but,  possessing  both,  he  is  in  a  state  of  ])cr- 
petual  warfare  :  for  peace  with  one  is  war  with  the  other:  he  is 
divided  against  himself.  If  it  be  an  unnatural  blindness  to  live 
without  inquiring  -into  our  true  constitution  and  condition,  it 
proves  a  hardness  yet  more  dreadful  to  believe  in  God  and 
live  in  sin.^ 

Whenever  the  human  character  is  portrayed  in  colors  alto- 
gether dark,  or  altogether  bright;  whenever  the  misanthrope 
pours  out  his  scorn  upon  the  wickedness  and  baseness  of  man- 
kind, or  the  enthusiast  lavishes  his  admiration  upon  their 
virtues,  do  we  not  always  feel  that  there  needs  to  be  some 
qualification  —  that  there  is  something  to  be  said  on  the  other 
side?  2 

Nay,  more ;  do  not  all  the  varying  representations  of  human 
nature  imply  their  opposites  ?  Does  not  virtue  itself  imply  that 
sins  and  sinful  passions  are  struggled  with  and  overcome?  And, 
on  the  contrary,  does  not  sin  in  its  very  nature  imply  that  there 
are  high  and  sacred  powers,  capacities,  and  affections,  which  it 
violates  ? 

In  each  of  us,  even  in  the  very  seat  of  our  being,  there  are — 
as  in  Jacob — two,  nay,  sometimes  three  or  five,  separate  charac- 
ters striving  for  the  mastery.  It  is  that  conflict  between  two 
contending  principles — that  dialogue,  as  it  were,  between  "the 
two  voices" — which  is  one  of  the  profoundest  mysteries  of  our 
nature,  but  which  the  Bible  itself  fully  acknowledges.  We  see 
it  in  the  dark  struggle  within  the  single  mind  of  the  author  of 
Ecclesiastes.  We  see  it  in  the  dramatic  form  of  the  Book  of 
Job  and  the  Song  of  Solomon.  We  see  it  not  only  in  the 
twofold  character  of  Jacob,  but  in  the  double,  treble,  quad- 
ruple character  of  David.  We  see  it  in  the  multiplied  demons — 
one,  two,  seven  —  mounting  till  their  name  is  Legion,  which, 


1  Pascal. 


8  Dewey. 


86 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


however  ^ve  exnlaiii  the  phrase,  took  possession  of  their  victims 
in  the  Gospel  history.     We  see  it  in  the  flux  and  reflux  of  the 
better  mind  of  Peter,  described  in  a  few  suc<,'essive  verses  as  the 
Eock   of   the   Church,  and  as   S:itan,   its  deadly  enemy.       We 
see  it  in  the  distractions  and  divisions  in   tlie  mind  of  Paul  in 
tlie  seventh  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans.     We  see  it 
throu<di  the  lono-  historv  of  mankind  and  of  Christendom:  the 
mixture    of    the    hypocrite    and    the    saint;    the    union    of  the 
coward  with  the  hero  ;  the  fool  lurking  in  the  innermost  cham- 
bers of  the  mixid  of  the  wisest;  the  filthy  thought  ensconcing 
itself  in  the  crvstal  heart  of  the  purest;  the  versatile  genius  with 
his  hundred  hands  and  hundred  faces.     We  see  it  in  what  Colbert 
called  the  official  conscience  of  the  Sorbonne  and  the  natural 
conscience  of  the  man  and  the  citizen.     AVe  see  it  in  the  old 
barbarian  Adam  lurking  within  the  folds  of  the  new  civilized 
Adam  of  later  days.     We  see  it  in  the   old  theological  Adam 
striving  to  maintain  his  own  against  the  new,  Christian,  spiritual 
Adam  in  each  successive  generation.     It  surely  is  not  without 
cause  that  we  call  attention  to  this  doctrine  of  the  double  side  of 
human  nature  thus  running  through  the  Bible  and  through  his- 
torical experience.     Commonplace,  obvious  as  it  is,  it  has  been  a 
thousand  times  overlooked,  and  yet  it  is  at  least  as  important  as 
the  theorv  of  Pela^rius  or  the  theory  of  Augustine.     It  is  the  true 
antidote  to  those  indiscriminating  judgments,  which  have  been 
the  bane  of  ecclesiastical  history  and  of  theological  speculation. 
It  bids  us  to  refuse,  on  the  very  threshold  of  any  Church,  or 
anv  svstem,  its  claim  to  be  either  all  good  or  all  evil— to  be 
either   Christ  or  Anti-Christ.     It   renounces  at  the  outset   the 
possibility  of  an  unerring  oracle  lodged  in  any  human  institu- 
tion, or  of  absolute  allegiance  to  any  human  party.    It  commands 
us  unhesitatingly  to  admire  the  admirable,  to  detest  the  detest- 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


87 


able,  even  in  the  same  individuals,  in  the  same  party,  in  the  same 
Church  or  nation.^ 

Contradictions. — Human  nature  I  always  thought  the  most 
useful  object  of  human  reason,  and  to  make  the  consideration  of 
it  pleasant  and  entertaining  I  always  thought  the  best  employ- 
ment of  human  wit;  other  parts  of  philosophy  may,  perhaps, 
make  us  wiser,  but  this  not  only  answers  that  end,  but  makes  us 
better,  too.  Hence  it  was  that  the  oracle  pronounced  Socrates  the 
wisest  of  all  men  living,  because  he  judiciously  made  choice  of 
human  nature  for  the  object  of  his  thoughts,  an  inquiry  into 
which  as  much  exceeds  all  other  learnins:  as  it  is  of  more  conse- 
quence  to  adjust  the  true  nature  and  measures  of  right  and 
wrong  than  to  settle  the  distances  of  the  planets,  and  compute 
the  times  of  their  circumvolutions. 

One  <2:ood  effect  that  will  immediatelv  arise  from  a  near  obser- 
vation  of  human  nature  is,  that  we  sh<ill  cease  to  wonder  at  those 
actions  which  men  are  used  to  reckon  wholly  unaccountable ;  for, 
as  nothing  is  produced  without  a  cause,  so,  by  observing  the 
nature  and  course  of  the  passions,  we  shall  be  able  to  trace  every 
action  from  its  first  conception  to  its  death.  We  shall  no  more 
admire  at  the  proceedings  of  Catiline  or  Tiberius,  when  we  know 
the  one  was  actuated  by  a  cruel  jealousy,  the  other  by  a  furious 
ambition ;  for  the  actions  of  men  follow  their  passions  as 
naturallv  as  liiiht  does  heat,  or  as  anv  other  effect  flows  from  its 
cause;  reason  must  be  employed  in  adjusting  the  passions,  but 
these  must  ever  remain  the  principles  of  action.  " 

The  strange  and  absurd  variety  that  is  so  a})parent  in  men's 
actions  shows  plainly  they  can  never  proceed  immediately  from 
reason ;  so  pure  a  fountain  emits  no  such  troubled  waters.  They 
must  necessarily  arise  from  the  passions,  which  are  to  the  mind 
as  the  winds  to  a  ship;  they  only  can  move  it,  and  they  too 


1  Dean  Stanley. 


t 


88 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


often  destroy  it ;  if  fair  and  gentle,  they  guide  it  into  the  harbor; 
if  contrarv  and  furious,  thev  overset  it  in  the  waves.  In  the 
same  manner  is  the  mind  assisted  or  endangered  by  the  passions. 
Eeason  must  then  take  the  plaee  of  pilot,  and  can  never  fail  of 
securino-  her  ehar-'-e,  if  she  be  not  wanting  to  herself.  The 
strength  of  the  passions  will  never  be  accepted  as  an  excuse  for 
coniDlvino-  with  them;  they  were  designed  for  subjection;  and 
if  a  man  suffers  them  to  get  the  upper  hand,  he  then  betrays  the 

libertv  of  his  own  soul. 

As  Nature  has  framed  the  several  species  of  beings,  as  it  were, 
in  a  chain,  so  man  seems  to  be  placed  as  the  middle  link  between 
angels  and  brutes.  Hence  he  participates  both  of  flesh  and 
sjnrit  by  an  admirable  tie,  which  in  him  occasions  perpetual  war 
of  passions;  and,  as  a  man  inclines  to  the  angelic  or  brute  part 
of  his  constitution,  he  is  then  denominated  good  or  bad,  virtu- 
ous or  wicked;  if  love,  mercy,  and  good  nature  prevail,  they 
speak  him  of  the  angel;  if  hatred,  cruelty,  and  envy  predomi- 
nate, thev  declare  his  kindred  t)  the  brute.  Hence  it  was  that 
some  of  the  ancients  imagined,  that  as  men,  in  this  life,  inclined 
more  to  the  angel  or  the  brute,  so,  after  their  death,  they  should 
transmigrate  into  the  one  or  the  other,  and  it  would  be  no 
unpleasant  notion  to  consider  the  several  species  of  brutes  into 
which  we  may  imagine  that  tyrants,  misers,  the  proud,  malicious, 
and  ill-natured,  might  be  changed. 

As  a  consequence  of  this  original,  all  passions  are  in  all  men, 
but  all  appear  not  in  all :  constitution,  education,  custom  of  the 
country,  reason,  and  the  like  causes,  may  improve  or  abate  the 
strength  of  them,  but  still  the  seeds  remain,  which  are  ever 
readv  to  sprout  forth  upon  the  least  encouragement.  I  have 
heard  a  story  of  a  good,  religicms  man,  who,  having  been  bred 
with  the  milk  of  a  goat,  was  very  modest  in  public,  by  a  careful 


•I 


t 


I 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


89 


reflection  he  made  on  his  actions;  but  he  frequently  had  an  hour 
in  secret  wherein  he  had  his  frisks  and  capers;  and  if  we  had  an 
opportunity  of  examining  the  retirement  of  the  strictest  philoso-  . 
phers,  no  doubt  but  w^e  should  find  perpetual  returns  of  those 
passions  they  so  artfully  conceal  from  the  public.  I  remember 
Machiavel  observes,  that  every  state  should  entertain  a  perpetual 
jealousy  of  its  neighbors,  that  so  it  should  never  be  unprovided 
when  an  emergency  happens;  in  like  manner  should  t]\Q  reason 
be  ])erpetually  on  its  guard  against  the  passions,  and  never  suffer 
them  to  carry  on  any  design  that  may  be  destructive  of  its 
security;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  must  be  careful  that  it  don't 
so  far  break  their  strength  as  to  render  them  contemptible,  and, 
consequently,  itself  unguarded. 

The  understandino:  beiuGf  of  itself  too  slow  and  lazv  to  exert 
itself  into  action,  it  is  necessary  it  should  be  put  in  motion  by  the 
gentle  gales  of  the  passions,  which  may  preserve  it  from  stag- 
nation and  corruption  ;  for  they  are  necessary  to  the  health  of 
the  mind,  as  the  circulation  of  the  animal  spirits  is  to  the  health 
of  the  body — they  keep  it  in  life,  and  strength,  and  vigor;  nor  is 
it  possible  for  the  mind  to  perform  its  offices  without  their  assist- 
ance. These  motions  are  given  us  with  our  being ;  they  are 
little  spirits  that  are  born  and  die  with  us.  To  some  they  are 
mild,  easy,  and  gentle  ;  to  others,  wayward  and  unruly,  yet  never 
too  strong  for  the  reigns  of  reason  and  the  guidance  of  judgment. 

We  may  generally  observe  a  pretty  nice  proportion  between 
the  strength  of  reason  and  passion.  The  greatest  geniuses  have 
commonly  the  strongest  affections,  as,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
weaker  understandings  have  generally  the  weaker  passions  ;  and 
'tis  fit  the  fury  of  the  coursers  should  not  be  too  great  for  the  strength 
of  the  charioteer.  Young  men,  wdiose  passions  are  not  a  little 
unruly,  give  small  hopes  of  their  ever  being  considerable.     The 


i 


t 


90 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


fire  of  voutli  will  of  course  abate,  and  is  a  fault,  if  it  Le  a  fault,  that 
mends  everv  day  ;  but  surely,  unless  a  man  has  fire  in  his  youth, 
he  can  hardly  haye  Avarmth  in  old  age.  "We  must,  therefore,  be 
very  cautious,  lest,  ^vhile  vrc  think  to  regulate  the  passions,  we 
should  quitj  extinguish  them,  which  is  putting  out  the  light  of 
the  soul;  for  to  be  without  passion,  or  to  be  hurried  away  with 
it,  makes  a  man  cquaHy  blind.  The  extraordinary  severity  used 
in  most  of  our  schools  has  this  fatal  effect;  it  breaks  the  spring 
of  the  mind,  and  most  certainly  destroys  more  good  geniuses  than 
it  can  possibly  improve.  And  surely  it  is  a  mighty  mistake  that 
the  passions  should  be  so  entirely  subdued  ;  for  little  irregulari- 
ties arc  sometimes  not  only  to  be  borne  with,  but  to  be  cultivated, 
too,  since  they  arc  frequently  attended  with  the  greatest  perfec- 
tions. All  great  geniuses  haye  faults  mixed  with  their  virtues, 
and  resemble  the  flaming  bush  which  has  thorns  among  lights. 

Since,  therefore,  the  passions  are  the  principles  of  human 
actions,  we  must  endeavor  to  manage  them  so  as  to  retain  their 
viiTor,  vet  keep  them  under  strict  command  ;  we  must  govern 
them  rather  like  free  subjects  than  slaves,  lest,  while  avc  intend 
to  make  them  obedient,  they  become  abject,  and  unfit  for  those 
great  purposes  to  which  they  were  designed.  For  my  part,  I 
must  confess,  I  could  never  have  any  regard  for  that  sect  of  phi- 
losophers who  so  much  insisted  upon  an  absolute  indiflPerence 
and  vacancy  from  all  passions;  for  it  seems  to  me  a  thing  very 
inconsistent  for  a  man  to  divest  himself  of  humanity  in  order  to 
acquire  tranquillity  of  mind,  and  to  eradicate  the  very  principles 
of  action  because  it's  possible  they  may  produce  ill  effects.^ 

Classifications. — There  are  not  more  differences  in  men's 
faces,  and  the  outward  lineaments  of  their  bodies,  than  there  are 
in  the  makes  and  tempers  of  their  minds  ;  only  there  is  this  dif- 
ference, that  the  distinguishing  characters  of  the  face,  and  the 

1  rope. 


% 


"^ 


% 


* 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


91 


lineaments  of  the  body,  grow  more  plain  with  time,  but  the 
peculiar  physiognomy  of  the  mind  is  most  discernible  in  chil- 
dren.^ 

Men  in  their  several  2)rofessed  employments,  looked  at  broadly, 
may  be  properly  arranged  under  five  classes : 

1.  Persons  Ayho  see.  These,  in  modern  language,  are  some- 
times called  sight-seers,  that  being  an  occupation  coming  more 
and  more  into  vogue  every  day.  Anciently,  they  used  to  be 
called,  simply,  seers. 

2.  Persons  who  talk.  These,  in  modern  language,  are  usually 
called  talkers,  or  speakers,  as  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
elsewhere.     They  used  to  be  called  prophets. 

3.  Persons  wdio  make.  These,  in  modern  language,  are 
usually  called  manufacturers.     Anciently,  they  were  called  poets. 

4.  Persons  who  think.  There  seems  to  be  no  very  distinct 
modern  title  for  this  kind  of  person,  anciently  called  philoso- 
phers ;   nevertheless,  we  have  a  few  of  them  among  us. 

5.  Persons  wdio  do :  in  modern  language,  called  practical 
persons;  anciently,  believers.^ 

The  ancient  moralists  distinguished  three  kinds  of  life,  accord- 
ing as  pleasure,  action,  or  contemplation,  was  looked  on  as  the 
end  of  man ;  they  thought  that  a  choice  must  be  made  between 
the  three.  They  all,  or  nearly  all,  agreed  in  placing  the  life  of 
pleasure  in  the  lowest  rank;  but  they  long  discussed  the  ques- 
tion whether  the  active  life  or  the  contemplative  were  preferable. 
This  discussion  is  infinite,  for  every  man  decides  according  to 
his  tastes,  his  temperament,  and  his  habits.  Men  of  action  and 
men  of  thought  contribute,  each  in  his  own  way,  to  the  common 
weal — the  former  sway  the  j^resent,  and  the  latter  prepare  the 
future.  The  distinction,  however,  which  lies  at  the  base  of  this 
discussion,  is  founded  on  a  true  observation  of  human  nature. 


1  Locke. 


2  Iluskin. 


% 


92 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


Except  the  mere  sensualist,  every  man,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  is  either  active  or  contemplative;  everyone  is  a  Caesar 
or  a  Plato,  as  far  as  his  intellect  will  allow.  He  who  in  some 
obscure  village,  in  some  remote  land,  takes  trouble  to  conduct 
some  small  business,  is  akin  to  those  who  govern  great  states,  or 
who  win  great  battles.  He  who  prefers  leisure,  who  loves  to 
dream  and  meditate,  who  aspires  to  some  rude  education  as  his 
ideal,  is  akin  to  great  thinkers  and  great  poets.  The  more 
closely  we  study  men,  the  better  we  see  that  they  may  be  brought 
under  these  two  categories.  Even  where  the  contrast  is  not 
striking,  it  still  exists,  and  we  detect  it  when  we  observe  more 

deeply.^ 

Practical  men  admit  only  those  fliculties  in  a  man  whose 
effects  they  can  appreciate.  They  make  much  of  a  good  stomach, 
of  strong  limbs,  of  the  five  natural  senses,  and  of  that  common 
sort  of  understanding  which,  when  it  is  cold  on  a  December 
evening,  conjectures  that  it  will  freeze  during  the  night.  But 
as  to  facnlties  more  refined  and  elevated  in  nature,  they  either 
despise  them,  or  deny  their  existence;  they  have  no  use  for 
them  whatever,  and  very  possibly  d  )  not  possess  them  at  all. 

They  consider  as  foolish  the  men  in  whom  such  faculties  are 
strono'lv  develo])ed  and  active.  A  poet,  a  painter,  a  religious 
man,  a  metaphysician,  an  algebraist,  a  literary  man,  are,  to  them, 

strange  monsters. 

Thev  consider  as  idle  stories  all  the  products  of  these  faculties. 
A  volume  of  Lamartine,  a  dialogue  of  Plato,  an  academic  memoir 
on  inscriptions,  a  formula  of  Laplace,  a  landscape  of  Poussin,  a 
beautiful  passage  of  historical  writing,  are  to  them  mere  trifles, 
which  may  amuse,  perhaps,  the  eccentric,  but  are  quite  unworthy, 
because  offering  nothing  solid  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  prac- 
tical mind.     Canals,  railroads,  steamboats,  prices,  labor,  agricult- 

1  Ribot. 


i 


->.  r 


.*, 


i 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


93 


ure,  commerce,  whatever  has  value  and  is  salable—these,  and 
these  alone,  have  real  worth  and  importance 

The  elevated  and  impulsive  emotions,  which  act  upon  our 
nature  and  influence  in  so  great  a  degree  our  conduct,  have  no 
real  existence  for  the  practical  man  ;  he  sees  them  not,  or  despises 
them,  and  leaves  them  to  women  and  children. 

The  only  interests  he  can  appreciate  are  such  as  are  palpable, 
and  can  be  touched,  measured,  weighed.  He  could  not  compre- 
hend Epicurus,  even  if  he  should  read  him  ;  but  he  does  not  read 
him,  for  he  was  a  philosopher  and  an  ancient ;  he  doubts  even 
whether  such  a  man  ever  existed— for  who  can  tell  what  hap- 
pened two  thousand  years  ago  ? 

Morality  is  for  him  a  matter  of  calculation  ;  and  it  is  by  sums 
of  addition  and  subtraction  that  he  judges  in  each  case  of  the 
propriety  of  a  course  of  conduct.  As  a  practical  man  is  his  stand- 
ard of  comparison,  it  seems  to  him  as  if  all  the  world  were  gov- 
erned by  the  spirit  of  calculation.  He  neither  believes  in  nor 
doubts  of  a  Deity;  he  does  not  think  about  the  subject  at  all;  it 
is  too  refined  and  abstract  for  him.  And,  confined  in  his  own 
narrow  round  of  ideas,  he  is  positive,  confident,  unhesitating,  and 

content. 

Practical  men  are  entirely  persuaded  that  they  govern  the 
w^orld,  because  they  everywhere  float  on  the  surface ;  they  make 
the  laws  and  administer  them;  they  manufacture,  and  buy,  and 
sell  •  thev  are  the  consumers.  But  they  never  seem  to  be  aware 
that  this  world,  which  they  suppose  is  under  their  direction,  is  a 
mighty  force,  that,  in  its  movement,  is  sweeping  them  onward. 

The  outward  and  apparent  revolutions  in  society,  which  are 
the  only  ones  apparent  to.  them,  conform  to  their  ideas,  while  the 
movers  of  them  are  hidden  from  their  view ;  and  thus  they  take 
the  mill-wheel  f)r  the  water  that  forces  it  to  turn.^ 

1  Joufror. 


ii 


94 


MAN   AND   III3   RELATIONS. 


Some  men  seem  to  be  sent  into  the  world  for  purposes  of  action 
only.  Their  faculties  arc  all  strung  up  to  toil  and  enterprise ; 
their  spirit  and  their  frame  are  alike  redolent  of  energy.  They 
pause  and  slumber  like  other  men,  but  it  is  only  to  recruit  from 
actual  fatigue  ;  they  occasionally  want  quiet,  but  only  as  a  re- 
freshment to  prepare  them  for  renewed  exertion — not  as  a  normal 
condition  to  be  wished  for  or  enjoyed  for  itself.  They  need  rest, 
not  repose.  They  investigate  and  reflect,  but  only  to  estimate 
the  best  means  of  attaining  their  ends,  or  to  measure  the  value 
of  their  undertaking  against  its  cost ;  they  think — they  never 
meditate.  Their  mission,  their  enjoyment,  the  object  and  condi- 
tion of  their  existence,  is  WORK.  They  could  not  exist  here  with- 
out it;  they  can  not  conceive  another  life  as  desirable  without  it. 
Their  amount  of  vitality  is  beyond  that  of  ordinary  men ;  they 
are  never  to  be  seen  doing  nothing;  when  doing  nothing  else, 
they  are  always  sleeping.     Happy  souls !     Happy  ?7icn,  at  least! 

There  are  others  who  skim  over  the  surface  of  life,  reflecting 
just  as  little  as  these  and  not  reposing  much  oftener ;  whose  sen- 
sibilities are  quick,  whose  temperaments  are  cheerful,  whose 
frames  are  naturally  active  but  not  laborious ;  on  whom  nature 
and  the  external  world  play  as  on  a  stringed  instrument,  some- 
times drawing  out  sweet  sounds,  sometimes  discordant  ones,  but 
whom  the  inner  world  seldom  troubles  with  anv  intimation  of 
its  existence ;  men  whom  the  interests  of  the  day  suffice  to 
occupy  ;  the  depths  of  whose  souls  are  never  irradiated  by  gleams 
or  stirred  bv  breezes  '^  from  a  remoter  life.'^  Thcv,  too,  are  to 
be  envied.     The  bees  and  the  butterflies  are  alike  happy. 

"  Happy  the  many  to  whom  Life  displays 
Only  the  flaunting  of  its  Tulip-flower; 
"Whose  minds  have  never  bent  tj  scrutinize 
Into  the  maddening  riddle  of  the  Koot — - 
Shell  within  shell,  dream  folded  over  dream." 


^ 


't's 


...IV 


< 


i> 


THE   NATURE   OF   MAN. 


05 


There   are  other  spirits   whom   God   has   cast   in  a  diifcrent 
mold,  or  framed  of  less  harmonious  substance— men  gifted  with 
that  contemplative  faculty  which  is  a  blessing  or  a  curse  accord- 
ing as  it  is  linked  with  a  cheerful  or  a  melancholy  temperament ; 
accordino;  as  it  is  content  to  busy  itself  only  with  derivative  and 
secondary  matters,  or  dives  down  to  the  hidden  foundation  of 
things;  according  as  it  assumes  and  accepts  much,  or  is  driven  l)y 
its  own  necessity  to   question    everything;  according  as  it  can 
Avander  happily  and  curiously  among  the  flowers  and  fruit  of 
the  Tree  of  Life,  or  as  it  is  dangerously  impelled  to  dig  about  its 
roots  and  analyze  the  soil  in  which  it  grows.     To  such   men 
existence  is  one  long  note  of  interrogation,  and  the  universe  a 
store-house  of  problems  all  clamorous  for  solution.    The  old  fable 
of  the  Sphinx  is  true  for  them :  life  is  the  riddle  they  have  to 
read,  and  death,  sadness,  or  the  waste  of  years,  is  the  penalty  if 
they  hiil  to  interpret  it  aright.     A  few,  perhaps,  may  find  the 
key, and  reach  "the  peace  that  passeth  understanding."    A  large 
number  fancy  they  have  found  it,  and  are  serene  in  their  fortu- 
nate delusion.     Others  retire  from  the  eflfort,  conscious  that  they 
have  been  baffled  in  the  search,  but,  partly  in  weariness,  partly 
in  trust,  partly  in  content,  acquiescing  in  their  failure.     Others, 
ao-ain,  and  these  too  often  the  nobler  and  the  grander  souls,  reach 
the  verge  of  their  pilgrimage  still  battling  with  the  dark  enigma, 
and  dying  less  of  age  or  malady  than  of  the  profound  depression 
that  must   be  the  lot  of  all  who  have  wasted  life  in  fruitless 
efforts  to  discover  how  it  should  be  spent  and  how  regarded; 
and  which  even  a  sincere  belief  in  the  flood  of  life  which  lies 
behind  the  great  black  curtain  of  Death  can   not  quite  avail 

to  dissipate.^ 

Importance  of  the  Individual. —  The  worth  of  a  state,  in 
the  lono-  run,  is  the  worth  of  the  individuals  composing  it.^ 


Greg. 


2J.  S.  Mill. 


96 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Every  true  man  is  a  cause,  a  country,  and  an  age;  requires 
infinite  spoces  and  numbers  and  time  fully  to  accomplish  his 
design;  and  posterity  seems  to  follow  his  steps  as  a  train  of 
clients.  A  man  Ciesar  is  born,  and  for  ages  after  we  have  a 
Tvoman  Empire.  Christ  Is  born,  and  millions  of  minds  so  grow 
and  cleave  to  his  genius  that  he  is  confounded  with  virtue  and 
the  possible  of  man.  An  institution  is  the  lengthened  shadow 
of  one  man— as  Monachism,  of  the  Hermit  Antony;  the  Refor- 
mation, of  Luther;  Quakerism,  of  Fox  ;  Methodism,  of  Wesley; 
Abolition,  of  Clarkson.  Scipio,  ^Uhon  called  ^^the  height  of 
Pvome;"  and  all  history  resolves  itself  very  easily  into  the 
biography  of  a  few  stout  and  earnest  persons.  Let  a  man  then 
know  his  worth,  and  keep  things  under  his  feet.  Let  him  not 
peep  or  steal,  or  skulk  up  and  down  with  the  air  of  a  charity- 
boy,  a  bastard,  or  an  interloper,  in  the  world  which  exists  fur 


hi 


ni. 


The  termination  of  the  world  in  a  man  appears  to  be  tlie  last 
vitiuiv  of  intellio-ence.  The  universal  does  not  attract  us  until 
housed  in  an  individual.  AYho  heeds  the  waste  abyss  of  possi- 
bllitv  ?     The  ocean  is  everywhere  the  same,  but  it  has  no  charac- 

t.  r  until  seen  with  tho  shore  or  the  ship.  W in>  would  vaIiw.  any 
number  of  miles  of  Atlantic  brine  bounded  by  lines  of  latitude 
and  lijngitude  ?  Confine  it  by  granite  rocks,  let  it  wash  a  shore 
where  wise  men  dwell,  and  it  is  filled  witli  repression  ;  and  the 
point  of  greatest  interest  is  where  the  land  tind  water  meet.  So 
mn-t  we  admire  in  niin,  ilie  iovm  of  the  formless,  the  concentra- 
tion of  the  vast,  the  hniise  of  reason,  the  cave  of  memory.  See 
the  plav  oi"  I'aou-'ht- !  what  ninible,  gigantic  creatures  are  these! 
what  sanrian^,  what  palaictheria,  sliall  be  namod  with  these  agile 
movtr.-?  Tiie  great  Pan  <  f  old,  who  was  clothed  in  a  leopard 
skin  to  signify  tho  beantiful  variety  of  things,  and  the  lirniament 


'0^ 


tit 


\\ 


.■^,1 


d 


7 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


97 


his  coat  of  stars,  was  but  the  representative  of  thee,  O  rich  and 
various  Man  I  thou  palace  of  sight  and  sound,  carrying  in  thy 
senses  the  morning  and  ih^  night  and  the  unfathomable  galaxy; 
in  thy  brain,  the  geometry  of  the  City   of  God ;  in  thy  heart,' 
the  bower  of  love  and  the  realms  of  right  and  wrong.     An  indi- 
vidual man  is  a  fruit  which  it  cost  all   the   foregoing  ages  to 
form  and  ripen.     The  history  of  the  genesis  or  the  old  my tirology 
repeats  itself  in  the  experience  of  every  child.    He,  too,  is  a  demon 
or  God  tlirown  into  a  particular  chaos,  where  he  strives  ever  to  lead 
things  from  disorder  into  order.      V,wh   individual  soul  is  such, 
in  virtue  of  its  being  a  power  to  translate  the  world   into  some 
particular  language  of  its  own  ;  if  not  into  a  l)ietnr(^  n  ^t^xtno.  or 
a  dance-why,  then,  into  a  trade,  an  art,  a  science,  a  mode  of 
living,  a  conversation,  a  character,  an  influence.^ 

In  a  crowded  city  you  see  the  multitude  of  men  going  to  and 
fro,  each  on  his  several  errand  of  business  or  pleasure;  yon  see 
the  shops,  so  busy  and  so   Inll  ;  the  ships,  so   many  and   of  su^h 
great  cost,  going  so   far   and   sailing  so  swift;  yon   are  told  so 
many  thousand  men  lodge  each  night   niidcrneath  the  eity  roofs, 
and  every  morning  so   many  thousarid    more  come  here  to  join 
the   doing   and    the  driving  of  tin.   town,  and   depart   thenee  at 
night.     You   look  at  all  this  ninnif^old  doing  and   drivln-,  the 
great  stream  of  activity  that  runs  up  and  down  the  streets  and 
lanes,  and  you  think  how  very  unimportant,  in>ignifiennt  even, 
is  any  one  man.     Yonder  dandy,  say  you,  who  has  just  blossomed 
out  of  the  tailor's  window,  a  summer  tulip  transplanted   lo   the 
sidewalk,  might  drop  through   and   never  be  nn'ssed ;  so  might 
that  little  shrinking  maiden,  <uber  as  a  violet,  going  to  her  work 
in  a   milliner's  or  a  bookbinder's  shop.     Who  wonld   ever  miss 
these  two  grains  of  dti.^t  if  they  got  blown  oil'?     Yon  thindv  of 
the  conventions  to  make  constitutions,  of  the  jjeneral  assemblies 


8 


"^iJ 


'  Ibid. 


1  Emer-on. 


98 


MAX    AND    II 13    RELATIONS. 


of  the  million  of  men  who  compose  ^ras.^achiiselts,  then  of  the 
courts  and   congresses  and   laws   of  this   nation — its  three   and 
twentv    millions    of   men — and    how    insignificant    appears    the 
little  village  we   stand   in.     You  think   of  the  Avhole  world  of 
nations,    with    its    fleets,    armies,    cities,    towns,    the    enormous 
amount  of  property  which  bi-longs  to  the  world — for  mankind  is 
a  rich  old  fellow;  vou  think  of  all  the   laws   and  constitutions, 
democratically  Avrit  on  parchment,  or  else  despotically  incarnated 
in  a  Nicholas  or  a  grand  Turk;  you  think  of  the  ten  hundred 
millions  of  men   on  the  earth — and   what  is  America,  the  indi- 
vidual  nation?     It  is   one  drop  in   the  pitcher;  it  might  drop 
out,  and  nobody  would  miss  it.     ^Yhat  is  Boston,  an  individual 
town?     It  might  cave  in  to-morrow,  and  the  world  care  nothing 
for  the  loss— only  one   farthing  gone  out  of  the   inexhaustible 
riches  (»f  the  human  race.     What  am  I,  say  you,  an  individual 
man?     I  might  die  outright,  and  what  odds  would  it  make  to 
the   world?     Of  what  consequence  is  it  to   mankind  that  I  am 
faithful  or  not?    whether  I  sell  brandy   or   bread?     whether  I 
kidnaj)  men  or  make  honest  neat's  leather  into  honest  shoes?     I 
am  one  hundred  and  fifry  thousandth  part  of  Boston,  one  twenty- 
three  millionth  part  of  America,  one  thousand  millionth  part  of 
the  whole  human  race — wlu;t  a  contemptible  vulgar  fraction  of 
humanity  is  that,  r.t  its  best   estate!      If  all  the  world  of  men 
were  brou<dit  together,  who  would  miss  me  when  the  poll  of  the 
human  race  was  taken?     I  shall  never  much  influence  the  gen- 
eral product  of  mankind,  let  God  add,  or  subtract,  or  multiply, 
or  divide   me   as  he   sees  fit.     What  a  ridiculous  figure  am  II 
I  have  a  few  faculties  :  a  little  wit,  a  little  justice,  a  small  amount 
of  benevolence,  reaching  to  my  next  neighbor,  and  a  little  be- 
yond;  a  modicum  of  trust  in  God.    AVhat  are  these  amongst  so 
many?     Let  me  give  up.     Man  has  no  need   of  this  one  thou- 


4' I 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


P9 


sand  millionth  part  of  the  family,  and  God  will  never  miss  me. 
The  individual  is  nothing  in  this  vast  sum  of  fi)rces,  social, 
ecclesiastical,  political,  and  human. 

It  does  seem  so  at  first.  The  individual  man  seems  of  verv 
small  consequence;  and  so  a  man  loses  himself  in  a  great  city, 
cares  little  for  his  own  individuality,  and  is  content  to  be  a 
fraction  of  the  mass ;  so  much  of  the  Whig  party,  so  much  of 
the  Democratic  party,  so  much  of  some  other  party;  a  little 
fraction  of  America,  and  a  little  vulgar  fraction  of  the  human 
race. 

When  you  come  home  and  look  into  the  cradle,  or  on  her  who 
sits  at  its  side ;  when  you  meet  your  gray-haired  father,  or  your 
mother  venerable  and  old;  when  you  take  brother  and  sister  by 
the  hand,  or  put  your  arm  about  one  best  beloved,  then  all  this 
is  changed,  and  the  individual  seems  of  importance,  and  the 
greatest  mass  only  the  tool  thereof  ^' What  a  nice  world  it  is!'' 
says  young  Romeo  to  younger  Juliet,  as  he  gives  her  the  first 
evening  primrose  of  the  simimer.  "The  world  was  made  for 
you  and  me,"  sweetly  coo  they  to  one  another,  "on  purpose  to 
produce  this  very  primrose."  To  each  Lorenzo,  what  is  all  the 
crowd  of  Venice,  what  are  its  palaces  and  works  of  art,  its 
laws,  or  its  commercial  hand  that  reached  through  the  world, 
compared  with  his  single  individual  Jessica?  To  him  they  seem 
but  servants  to  attend  her.  Even  the  moonlight  which  "sleeps 
upon  the  bank,"  and  the  "  heaven  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of 
bright  gold,"  seem  only  designed  by  Heaven  to  serve  and  com- 
fort her.  "  The  golden  atoms  of  the  day  "  are  only  powders  to 
enrich  her  hair. 

When  you  study  the  action  and  the  final  result  of  this  doing 
and  driving  in  a  great,  busy  towm  like  Boston — the  shops  so 
many  and  so  full,  the  ships  so  costly,  going  so  fi\r  and  so  fast — 


100 


MAX    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


of  the  thousands  that  lodge  under  the  roof-tree  of  the  town,  and 
the  thousands  moro   that  do  business  in  its  streets;  when  you 
think  of  the  laws,  the  soeial  and  political  machinery,  and  all  the 
riches  of  this  wealthy  world,  you  see  that  the  ultimate  function 
of  it  all  is  to  produce  an  individual  man,  and  to  serye  him.     For 
this  do  men  build  the  sovereigns  of  the  seas  and  the  kings  of  the 
clippers— enormous  ships,  nobody  comprehends  how  big.     Such 
is  the  end  of  all  this  wonderful  apparatus,  the  institutions  and 
customs  of  the   community,  the   constitutions  and  laws  of  the 
state,  the  dogmas  and  rituals  of  the  church.     For  this  men  build 
<rreat  halls  to  recrale  matron  and  man  and  maid  with  music ;  for 
this  swells  up  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  or  Strasburg  Catht- 
dral  lifts  its  fmger-towcr  clear  up  into  the  sky.     All  is  to  report 
its  progress,  an<l   tho   final  result,  at  the  fireside  and  the  cradU , 
and  ::  i^  valuable  or  worthk-s  just  as  it  tells  in  ihe  consciousness 
and  the  character  of  the  indiyidual  juan.     Even  young  ^Iv.  Tulip, 
the  dandy,  Is  of  more  consequence  tli  in   all   the  gaudy  garmiMits 
he  has   b-.ught  at  his  tailor's;  and   modest  Miss  A'i-let  is  worth 
more  than   the  velyets  of  Oonna  aial    Lynns  all  the   laces  ever 
ni:u\v  at  Mfchlin,  Brussels,  aial   L-uvalii.      Tip  y  aiv  her  tools  to 
serve  hor  :   -he   is  not  f.rtlntn.      OmnipuleiicL'  wmi-k^  lui-  .  vi'iy 
man,  age   out    and   age  in,  cciitury  aH-r  ecntiiry.      Mr.  la-kine 
said  tie-  liiL:lie>L    UincLiun  -d'  the   English    Parliainenl   wa-^  i-.  put 
tuvlve  honest  men  i:i  a  jiiry-bnx.      TTa  iidght  linv(^  brought  It  m 
the  .iiiall.-L  pnint,  and  .aid  the  hi-he-t    innnh.n  ..f  the    En-lidi 
Parliament,  and  <very  nthcr  legislative  and  executive  body,  is  to 
nuike    John    and   Jane  th.'  best  man  and  woin:in  it  i-^  po^-ible  for 

them  t-»  b-e.^ 

Tiii:('v<iJ'.  OF  AIax. — Tiii'  r.^-ord  nf  lii'e  runs  thus:  Man 
ereei>.^  into  ehildhuud  ;  bounds  int..  youth:  sober^  into  nam- 
hoo<l  :   H)fteiw  into  age  ;   totters  into  secon.l  ehildh  .od.  and  .-lum- 


bar 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


101 


bers  into  the  cradle  prepared  for  him,  thence  to  be  watched  and 
cared  for.^ 

The  body  of  man  is  a  fragile,  ever-renewed  cover,  which  at 
last  can  no  longer  be  renewed.  But  his  spirit  works  on  earth 
only  in  and  with  the  body.  We  think  ourselves  self-existing, 
and  yet  are  dependent  on  everything  in  nature.  Entwined  in 
a  chain  of  wonderful  things,  we  must  follow  the  laws  of  their 
succession,  Avhich  are  no  other  than  beginning,  existing,  and 
ending.  A.  loose  thread  binds  the  race  of  men,  uhieh  breaks 
every  moment,  to  be  again  renewed.  The  old  man,  uitli  his 
wisdom,  disappears  in  the  grave,  that  his  successor  naiy  !k -;n 
as  a  child,  may  destroy,  perhaps,  like  a  fool,  th(>  works  of  Id-^ 
predecessor,  and  leave  to  one  who  comes  after  him  the  >ami  um  - 
less  labor,  with  whieh  he,  too,  consumes  his  Hie.  'lhu>  day>  aia' 
bound  to  each  other;  thus  races  and  kingdoms  are  bound  to 
eaeli  otiier.  The  sun  sets,  that  night  may  come,  and  uieu  may 
again  rejoice  over  a  new  dawn.^ 

All  ilie  world's  a  t^tage, 

And   all   the  iiieu   and   wuinen   merely   players; 

They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances; 

And  one  man  i!i  his  lime  plays  many  parts, 

His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  llrst  the  infant, 

Mewling  and  puking  in  tlie  nurse's  arms: 

And  then  the  whining  sehool-boy,  with  his  satchel, 

And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  a  snail 

Unwillingly  to  school :   and  then  the  lover, 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 

Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow  :  then  a  soldier, 

Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 

Jealous  in  honor,  sudden   and  quick  in  (piarrel, 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth:  and  then  the  justice, 

In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined, 


i  Parker. 


^  Ilcnrv  Cilcs. 


Herder. 


I 


102 


MAX    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 


103 


AVith  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  cf  wise  saws  and  modern  instances. 
And  so  he  plays  his  part :  the  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  })antaloon, 
AVith  spectacles^on  nose,  and  pjuch  on  side. 
His  youthful  hose  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound  :     Last  scene  of  all 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion ; 
Sails  teeth,  sans  eyes,  suns  taste,  sans  everything.* 

AYe  have  a  brief  description  of  seven  stages  of  life  by  a  remark- 
ably good  observer.  It  is  very  presumptuous  to  attempt  to  add 
to  it,  vet  I  have  been  struck  with  the  fact  that  life  admits  of  a 
natural  analysis  into  no  less  than  fifteen  distinct  periods.  Tak- 
ing the  five  i)rimary  divisions — infancy,  childhood,  youth,  man- 
hood, old  age — each  of  these  has  its  own  three  periods  of 
immaturity,  complete  development,  and  decline.  I  recognize  an 
old  baby  at  once — with  its  "pipe  and  mug'^  (a  stick  of  candy 
and  a  porringer) — so  does  everybody  ;  and  an  old  child  shedding 
its  milk-teeth  is  only  a  little  })rototype  of  the  old  man  shedding 
his  permanent  ones.  Fifty  or  thereabouts  is  only  the  childhood, 
as  it  were,  of  old  age;  the  gray-beard  youngster  must  be  weaned 
from  his  late  suppers  now.  So  you  will  see  that  you  have  to 
make  fifteen  staires,  at  anv  rate,  and  tlrat  it  would  not  be  hard  to 
make  twenty-five — five  primary,  each  witli  five  secondary  divis- 
ions. 

The  infancy  and  childhood  of  commencing  old  age  have  the 
same  ingenuous  simplicity  and  delightful  unconsciousness  about 
them  as  the  first  stage  of  the  earlier  periods  of  life  shows.  The 
great  delusion  of  mankind  is  in  supposing  that  to  be  individual 

1  Shakespeare. 


1 


\ 


and  exceptional  which  is  universal  and  according  to  law.  A 
person  is  always  startled  when  he  hears  himself  seriously  calle«l 
an  old  man  for  the  first  time. 

Nature  gets  us  out  of  youth  into  manhood,  as  sailors  are 
hurried  on  board  of  vessels  in  a  ^\.i\\i^  of  intoxication.  We  are 
hustled  into  maturity  reeling  witn  our  passions  and  imagina- 
tions, and  we  have  drifted  far  away  from  port  before  we 
awake  out  of  our  illusions.  But  to  carry  us  out  of  maturity 
into  old  age,  Avithout  our  knowing  where  we  are  going,  sh.c 
drugs  us  Avlth  strong  opiates,  and  so  we  sti'.gger  along  with 
wide  open  eyes  that  see  nothing  until  snow  enough  has  fallen 
on  our  heads  to  rouse  our  comatose  brains  out  of  their  stupid 
trances.^ 

Generation  after  generation  takes  to  itself  the  Form  of  a 
Body,  and,  forth-issuing  from  Cimmerian  Xight,  on  Heaven's 
mission  appears.  What  Force  and  Fire  is  in  each  he  expends: 
one  grinding  in  the  mill  of  Industry;  one,  hunter-like,  climbing 
the  giddy  Alpine  heights  of  Science ;  one  madly  dashed  to  pieces 
on  the  rocks  of  Strife,  in  war  with  his  fellow — and  then  the 
Heaven-sent  is  recalled  ;  his  earthly  Vesture  falls  away,  and  soon 
even  to  Sense  becomes  a  vanquished  Shadow.  Thus,  like  some 
wild-f  a'.ning,  wild-thundering  train  of  Heaven's  Artillery,  does 
this  nivsterious  Mankind  thunder  and  flame,  in  lonof-drawn, 
quick-succeeding  grandeur,  through  the  unknoM-n  Deep.  Tims, 
a  God-created,  fire-breathing  Spirit-host,  we  emerge  from  the 
Inane;  haste  stormfully  across  the  astonished  Earth  ;  then  plunge 
again  into  the  Inane.  Earth's  mountains  are  leveled,  and  her 
seas  filled  up,  in  our  ])assage:  can  the  Earth,  which  is  but  dead 
and  a  vision,  resist  Spirits  which  have  reality  and  are  alive?  On 
the  hardest  adamant  some  footprint  of  us  is  stamped  in;  the  last 
Rear  of  the    host  will  read  traces   of  the  Earliest  Van.     But 


1  Holmes. 


104 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


whence?  O  Heaven,  whither?  Sense  knows  not;  Faith  knows 
not;  only  that  it  is  through  Mystery  to  Mystery,  from  God  to 
God; 

"  We  are  such  stuff 
A.-.  Dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  Life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep ! " 

iCarlyle. 


1 


i! 
II 


II 


[H!/\WT1H1(D)!^F^    E 


w 


«l%. 


OHAPTEE    III 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


The  devil  never  tempted  a  man  whom  he  found  judiciously  employed.—  SprRGEON. 

IN  life/'  as  the  great  Pascal  observes,  *^  we  always  believe  that 
we  are  seeking  repose,  while,  in  reality,  all  that  we  ever  seek 
is  agitation."  It  is  ever  the  contest  that  pleases  us,  and  not  the 
victory.  Thus  it  is  in  play;  thus  it  is  in  hunting;  thus  it  is  in 
the  search  of  truth;  thus  it  is  in  life.  The  past  does  not  interest, 
the  present  does  not  satisfy,  the  future  alone  is  the  object  which 
engages  us.  .  .  .  The  man  who  first  declared  that  he  was 
not  a  (TO(fd^j  or  possessor,  but  a  <fu6(To<fo^,  or  seeker  of  truth,  at 
once  enounced  the  true  end  of  human  speculation,  and  embodied 
it  in  a  significant  name.  Under  the  same  conviction,  Plato 
defines  man  ^^the  hunter  of  truth;''  for  science  is  a  chase,  and  in 
a  chase  the  pursuit  is  always  of  greater  value  than  the  game. 
"The  intellect,"  says  Aristotle^  in  one  passage,  "is  perfected,  not 
by  knowledge,  but  by  activity;"  and  in  another,  "The  arts  and 
sciences  are  powers,  but  every  power  exists  only  for  the  sake  of 
action;  the  end  of  philosophy,  therefore,  is  not  knowledge,  but 
the  energy  conversant  about  knowledge."  The  profoundest 
thinkers  of  modern  times  have  emphatically  testified  to  the  same 
great  principle.  "If,"  says  Malebranche,  "I  held  truth  captive 
in  my  hand,  I  should  open  my  hand  and  let  it  fly,  in  order  that 

I  might  again  pursue  and  capture  it."     "Did  the  Almighty," 

(105) 


106 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


MAN    i:;    ACTION. 


107 


says  Lessing,  "holding  iu  his  right  hand  Truth,  and  in  his  left 
hand  Search  after  Truth,  deign  to  tender  me  the  one  I  might 
pre  for — In  all  humility,  but  without  hesitation,  I  should  request 
Search  af^cr  Truth.'' ^ 

Day  by  day  the  sun  arises,  the  darkness  of  night  goes,  and 
then  "man  goeth  forth  to  his  work,  and  to  his  labor,  until  the 
evening.'^  As  sure  as  the  blank  daylight  struggles  through 
wintry  clouds  and  rain,  and  even  before  it  comes;  as  sure  as  the 
morning  sunshine  of  summer  brightens  green  fields  and  green 
trees,  man,  in  town  and  country,  willingly  or  unwillingly,  cheer- 
fuily  or  despondingly,  takes  to  his  work — hand-work  or  head- 
work — and,  with  less  or  more  of  intermission,  toils  on  till  the 
evening  bids  him  cease.  This  has  been  well  called  the  work-day 
world.  It  has,  indeed,  its  blinks  of  leisure  and  recreation — 
though  most  men,  to  retain  the  healthy  spring  of  body  and  mind, 
ought  to  have  a  great  deal  more  of  these ;  and  there  is  one 
blessed  day — the  inestimable  gift  of  perfect  understanding  of  us 
and  thorough  sympathy  with  us — on  which  common  labors  cease, 
and  which  can  not  be  too  carefully  kept  free  from  the  intrusion 
of  work-day  thoughts  and  cares.  Yet,  in  the  main,  you  may 
read  in  the  Psalmist's  words,  "  the  story  of  our  lives  from  year 
to  vear. 

Gifts. — You  open  the  king's  casket,  and  you  see  jewels  of  all 
sizes,  shapes,  and  colors.  The  king  says  to  the  sultan,  who  has 
come  to  visit  him  :  "  That  is  a  topaz !  That  is  an  amethyst ! 
That  is  a  ])e3iv\ !  That  is  a  koh-i-noor !"  So  God's  jewels  are 
very  different — different  in  history,  different  in  taste,  different 
in  education,  different  in  preference.  Do  not  worry  because  God 
made  you  different  from  others.  Do  not  worry  because  you 
don't  have  the  faith  of  that  man,  or  the  praying  qualities  of  this, 
or  the  singing  qualities  of  another.     It  were  as  unwise  as  for  a 


I 


t| 


*#■ 


1  Sir  William  Hamilton. 


2  Country  Parson. 


cornelian  to  blush  deeper  because  it  is  not  a  diamond,  or  a  japon- 
ica  to  fret  all  the  color  out  of  its  cheek  because  it  is  not  a  rose. 
God  intended  you  to  bo  different.^ 

Differences  are  from  God ;  He  made  us  to  differ,  and  ho  ap- 
pointed this  difference  for  wise  ends.  I  sometimes  think  that 
the  wisest  axiom  in  the  world,  the  saying  that  goes  furtlier  than 
any  other  toward  explaining  the  universe,  is  that  popular  prov- 
erb :  "It  takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  a  world."  This 
proverb  expresses  the  wonderful  fullness  and  richness  of  the 
world,  its  thousandfold  varieties,  all  working  together  in  one 
grand  harmony  of  adaptions.  Attractions  and  repulsions,  loves 
and  hates,  co-operations  and  competitions,  rivalry  and  oppositions 
on  the  one  side,  partnerships  and  associations  on  the  other,  all 
result  at  last  in  an  orbed  and  beautiful  whole.  If  any  of  us  had 
made  the  world,  what  a  very  stupid  one  it  would  probably  have 
been  !  Utilitarians  would  have  excluded  poets  and  artists  ;  poets 
would  have  shut  out  utilitarians  ;  conservatives  would  banish 
reformers,  and  reformers  would  exclude  conservatives.  The 
orthodox  dogmatists  would  have  prevented  all  heretics  from 
making  their  appearance,  and  vice  versa.  But  God  lets  them  all 
come  in,  and,  in  His  hospitable  world,  provides  room  and  place 
for  all.  The  poor  Bushman,  the  Hottentot,  the  wild  Australian, 
the  idolatrous  and  heathen  multitudes  who  worship  Boodh,  or 
who  bow  to  a  Fetish — He  lets  them  all  in,  just  as  He  admits 
spider  and  snake,  hippopotamus  and  rhinoceros,  tiger  and  monkey. 
So,  in  our  society.  He  gives  room  for  the  conceited  pedant, 
the  foolish  fop,  the  shallow  prattler,  the  buffoon,  the  bully,  the 
blackleg,  the  border  ruffian,  the  repudiator,  the  empty-headed 
communist,  and  the  political  wire-puller.  It  takes  them  all  to 
make  God's  world ;  and  all  have  their  uses,  however  we  might 
wish,  in  our  haste,  to  exclude  them.     "  For  God  hath  chosen  the 

1  Talmage. 


"^ 


^■ 


108 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


109 


foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confouiul  the  mighty,  and  base 
things  of  the  Avorld,  and  tilings  which  are  despised,  hath  God 
chosen ;  yea,  and  things  which  are  not,  to  bring  to  nought  the 
thino:s  which  are." 

Let  us,  also,  firmly  believe  that  each  of  us  has  His  gift.  Let 
us  not  imagine  that  we  are  disinherited  by  our  heavenly  Father — 
any  one  of  us.  Let  us  be  ourselves,  as  God  has  made  us ;  then 
we  shall  be  something  good  and  useful. 

One  star  differs  from  another  star  in  glory,  but  every  star  con- 
tributes to  the  splendor  of  the  winter's  night.  The  man  who 
has  one  talent  must  not  burv  it  in  the  earth  ;  the  man  who  is 
called  at  the  eleventh  hour  is  equal  in  fidelity,  if  he  works  that 
one  hour,  to  those  w4io  have  labored  all  the  day.^ 

Genius  appears  in  as  many  diverse  forms  as  there  are  human 
occupations  and  interests.  Some  have  a  genius  for  w-ar,  and  are 
great  fighters — the  Alexanders,  Hannibals,  Caesars,  Attilas,  Fred- 
ericks, Napoleons,  and  the  rest  of  the  masters  in  this  dreadful 
art  to  kill.  It  was  once  the  most  honored  of  all ;  it  is  far  too 
much  honored  to-day.  Others  have  genius  for  practical  indus- 
try, the  creation  of  use ;  genius  fur  agriculture,  cattle-keeping, 
mechanic  arts,  navigation,  and  commerce.  This  form  of  genius 
has  hitherto  been  but  little  honored,  but  is  now  getting  the  re- 
spect of  the  most  enlightened  nations.  Some  have  a  genius  for 
art,  the  creation  of  beauty — music,  painting,  sculpture,  architect- 
ure. These  are  forms  of  genius  which  get  honored  long  before 
the  power  of  productive  industry  is  much  respected,  for  man 
adorns  himself  before  he  provides  for  his  comfort,  tattoos  his 
skin  before  he  weaves  a  coat  to  cover  it.  This  class  of  men,  Avho 
have  a  genius  for  art,  are  the  most  honored  to-day  by  the  educated 
portion  of  mankind,  the  world  round.  Then  there  is  another 
department  of  genius  —  for  philosophy,  physics   in   its   various 

^  James  Freeman  Clarke. 


I 


I 


departments,  metaphysics,  and  theology.  There  is  a  progressive 
veneration  for  the  great  philosophers.  Once  they,  like  Anaxa- 
goras,  fied  out  of  the  city,  or,  like  Socrates,  were  poisoned  in  it ; 
for  as  thev  were  the  bane  of  tvrants,  so  they  were  the  prey  of 
tvrants,  all  round  the  world.  Others  have  genius  for  politics— 
the  application  of  ideas  to  human  affairs,  the  organization  of 
masses  of  men,  and  the  administration  of  that  organization.  This 
is  a  verv  high  mode  of  genius,  always  valued  from  the  earliest 
davs,  and  never  too  much.  Lastlv,  there  is  genius  for  religion; 
for  piety,  to  feel  and  know  God;  for  morality,  to  know  and  keep 

his  laws.^ 

A  man  is  like  a  bit  of  Labrador  spar,  which  has  no  luster 
as  you  turn  it  in  your  hand,  until  you  come  to  a  piirticular 
anolo  :  then  it  shows  deei)  and  beautiful  colors.  There  is  no 
adaptation  or  universal  applicability  in  man;  but  each  has 
his  special  talent;  and  the  mastery  of  successful  men  consists  in 
adroitly  keeping  themselves  w^here  and  when  that  turn  shall  need 
oftencst  to  be  ])racticed.^ 

Whatever  nature  intended  you  fur,  that  be,  if  only  a  counter 
or  tall-piece.  Never  desert  your  true  sphere,  your  own  line  of 
talent.  If  Providence  qualified  you  only  to  write  couplets  fi)r 
sugar-horns,  or  to  scribble  editorials  fi)r  the  Bunkuraville 
Spread-Eagle,  stick  to  the  couplets  or  the  editorials;  a  good 
couplet  for  a  sugar-horn  is  more  respectable  than  a  villainous 
epic  poem  in  twelve  books.^ 

Plav  boldlv  vour  [-ame  with  few  or  many  counters,  according 
to  your  company  and  skill.  Some  have  one,  some  two,  others 
three  or  more ;  to  one  here  and  there  are  given  the  whole  seven, 
with  the  ability  to  play  with  them  as  becomes  the  gifted  and 
great.  But  you  may  not  expect  to  match  beyond  the  number 
challen<^ed.     The  mind  is  a  casket  containing  the  seven  counters, 


'^ 


1  Parker. 


2  Emerson. 


3  Mathews. 


{ 


f 


no 


MAN    AND    HIS   DELATIONS. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


Hi 


corresponding  to  your  talents,  and  you  play  a  round  game  only 
with  him  who  has  as  many  at  command  as  yourself.  The  multi- 
tude pl:!y  Avith  throe,  for  the  most  part  no  more  than  four,  know- 
ino-  not  nor  suspecting  the  full  complement  hidden  in  the  casket 
slides,  and  theirs  for  the  finding. 


J 


"1 


"God's  greatest  gift  Is  common  sense. 

Cai.ijngs. — The  crowning  fortune  of  a  man  is  to  be  born  with 
a  bias  U  some  pursuit,  which  finds  him  in  employment  and  hap- 
piness.^ 

I  can  not  repeat  too  often  that  no  man  struggles  perpetually 
and  victoriously  aoralnst  his  own  cliaracter;  and  one  of  the  first 
principles  of  success  in  life  is  so  to  regidate  our  career  as  rather 
to  turn  our  physical  constitution  and  natural  inclination  to  good 
account,  than  to  endeavor  to  counteract  the  one  or  oppose  the 

other."' 

If  there  is  any  fact  demonstrated  by  experience,  it  is  that  no 
man  can  succeed  in  a  calling  for  which  Providence  did  not  intend 
him.  Of  course.  It  is  easy  to  exaggerate  this  doctrine.  There 
arc  Sv:mo  men  Avho,  th';ugh  they  succeed  best  in  a  particular 
sphere,  yet  have  a  marvelous  flexibility,  versatility,  and  power 
of  adaptation,  which  enables  them  to  thrive  in  almost  any  pur- 
suit they  may  choose.  It  has  been  even  said  that  ''the  most 
unhandy  person  is  a  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe ;  plant  him  in  a 
desolate  island,  and  he  would  sprout  a  twenty-bladcd  penknife." 
But,  in  spite  of  exceptional  cases,  it  may  be  affirmed  that  there 
is  a  work  to  which  each  person  is  fitted,  to  which  he  is  called  by 
his  talents  and  endowments.  As  Emerson  says:  ''He  is  like  a 
ship  i:i  a  river:  he  runs  against  obstructions  on  every  side  but 
one  ;  on  thr.t  side  all  obstruction  is  taken  a\yay,  and  he  sweeps 
serenely  over  a  deepening  channel  into  an  infinite  sea.''  * 


Every  one  has  his  special  gift  and  calling  prcdolermincd  by 
descent  and  temperament,  subject,  of  course,  to  sliglit  modifica- 
tion by  choice  or  training,  and  intimating  for  what  lie  is  spe- 
cially fitted.  Only  mediocrity  can  follow  his  attempt  to  attain 
success  in  other  lines  of  effort.  If  estimating  wisely  Ids  cast  of 
gifts,  he  may  perceive  that  mediocrity  is  his  destiny,  and  so  spare 
himself  the  mortification  of  failure  in  attempting  what  he  is  not 
fitted  by  birth  and  temperament  to  achieve.  Necessity  may  balk 
the  following  his  destined  employment,  and  life  be  wasted  in  the 
effort  to  live.  Education  may  work  wonders  as  well  in  warping 
the  genius  of  individuals  as  in  seconding  it,  and  civilization 
degrade  the  many  to  exalt  the  few.  But  the  sense  of  degra- 
dation is  strong  in  noble  natures,  and  asserts  itself  with  an  em- 
phasis unmistakable.  It  behooves  communities  to  furnish  suit- 
able employment  for  all  its  members,  or  else  recreation  and 
amusement.  Man  must  have  some  recognized  slake  in  society 
and  affairs  to  knit  him  lovingly  to  his  kind,  or  he  is  wont  to 
revenge  himself  for  wrongs,  real  or  imagined.  ''  Tis  a  sure 
omen  of  the  reyolutionary  spirit  when  the  people  have  been 
driven  by  hereditary  injustice  or  neglect  to  study  the  fundamental 
principles  of  society,  and  to  bring  the  artificial  institutions  of 
antiquity  to  the  rigorous  ordeal  of  common  sense  and  unsophis- 
ticated and  injured  hearts.''  ^ 

The  choice  of  a  profession  or  occupation  is  a  hard  one  to  handle 
practically  or  speculatively.  So  many  are  forced  into  work,  and 
take  that  nearest  at  hand;  so  many  drift  into  an  occupation 
because  the  time  has  come;  so  many  are  set  to  work  too  early  for 
choice,  that  few  seem  left  who  can  make  a  careful  selection.  It 
is  a  sad  thing  that  any  should  be  defrauded  of  this  natural 
prerogative.  It  may  be  quite  right  to  train  a  boy  to  a  calling, 
but  never  to  the  exclusion  of  his   personal  choice;  ii  for  the 


1  Alcott. 


2  Emerson. 


3  Bulwer. 


<  Mathews. 


1  Alcott. 


112 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ministrv,  and  he  deliberately  prefers  to  become  a  machinist,  or  a 
farmer,  or  an  editor,  it  must  be  suffered.  A  call,  or  calling,  is  a 
divine  thing,  and  must  be  obeyed.  Pitt  Mas  trained  from  his 
earliest  vears  for  the  great  place  he  filled,  but  for  the  most  part 
o-reat  men  have  chosen  for  themselves.  But  one  should  settle 
the  matter  onlv  after  very  thorough  consideration.  Dr.  Bushnell 
once  said  to  a  vouno;  man  who  was  consulting  him  on  this  point, 
''Grasp  the  handle  of  your  being'' — a  most  significant  and  pru- 
fi)und  piece  of  advice.  There  is  in  every  one  a  taste  or  fitness 
that  is  as  a  handle  to  the  faculties;  if  one  gets  hold  of  it,  he  can 
work  the  entire  machinery  of  his  being  to  the  best  advantage. 
Before  committing  one's  self  to  a  pursuit,  one  should  make  a 
very  thorough  exploration  of  himself,  and  get  down  to  the  core 
of  his  being.  The  fabric  of  one's  life  should  rest  upon  the 
central  and  abiding  qualities  of  one's  nature — else  it  will  not 
stand.  Hence  a  choice  should  be  based  on  what  is  within  rather 
than  be  drawn  from  without.  Choose  your  employment  because 
vou  like  it,  and  not  because  it  has  some  external  promise.  The 
''good  opening"  is  in  the  man — not  in  circumstances.  An  ill- 
adaptation  will  nuUifv  any  good  promise,  while  aptitude  creates 
success.  All  true  life  and  success  are  from  within.  Gnr]  so 
made  the  world  and  things  in  it — "seed  within  itself"  is  the 
eternal  law.  T  do  not  mean  that  every  boy  has  an  inborn  taste 
for    some    specific    work — type-setting,    or    blacksmithing,    or 

editing. 

Aotitudes  are  j^eneric;  if  one  follows  his  general  taste,  he 
will  probably  succeed  in  scvcr:il  kiiulnd  pursuit.-.  \s  liilo  we 
can  not  well  go  contrary  to  nature,  there  is  a  certain  play  and 
oscillation  of  our  faculties— as  of  iho  planets  that  yet  keep  to  the 
a!)])ointed  iournev.  The  mechanical  eye  covers  a  large  variety 
of  employments.     A  spirit  of  ministration  is  fundamental  to  at 


Man  in  action. 


113 


i'i 


1^^ 


« 


i" 


least  two  of  the  great  professions.     One  of  an  intensely  reflective 

disposition  should  not  make  existence  a  long  battle  by  binding 

himself  to  a  life  of  external  activity;  and  many  a  man  pines  and 

shrivels  in  the  study  who  would  exult  n,  a  life   upon  the  soil. 

But  having  got  into  some  occupation  or  line  of  pursuit   that  is 

fairly  congenial,  running   \n   the  direction  of  your  inmost  taste 

and  aptitude,  hold  fast  to  it.     If  it  is  altogether  di.  tasteful  aft.  r 

fair   trial,   throw    it   aside,   and    start    again.     Ko  one  can   row 

against  the  stream  all  his  life  and  make  a  success  of  it.     It  is 

fnn(lam(>ntal  that  there  should  be  in  the   main   acconl    between 

the  man  and  his  work.     I  do  not  mean  that  one  i.^  ab..t)luiLlv  lo 

do  the  same   thing— shove   the  plane,  beat   the  anvil,  tend   \\w 

loom,  measure  land,  sell  goods— to  the  end,  but  that  he  should 

continue  in  the  same  general  department,  t!;u>   uiilizinir  previ-nis 

aptness  and  experience.     The  work  first  undertaken  may  be  too 

restricting;  one  should  be  always  looking   fur  its  higher  lunns. 

One   may  climb   by  a  steady   i)urpose   as   well  as  by  a  persistent 

iteration  of  the  same  thing,  but  it  must   be  in  a  related  field  uf 

elfort.     Successful   lite   is  commonly  of  one  i)iece;  and  it  comes 

of  intelligent  i)urpose— never  by  chance.^ 

It  IS  a  true  and  wise  saying,  one  that  throws  more  liuht  on 

the  ])rineiple  that  should  guide  us  than  any  other  I  know—- Our 

wishes  are  presentiments  of  our  capabilities."     What  a  lad  >iglis 

to  be,  and   strives  toward,   shows   for  what  he  is  fittest.      The 

liking  is  prompted  by  instinctive  aptitude,  and  goes  far  toward 

securing  success.     Ferguson's  wooden  eloek ;  Davy's  laborat.^ry 

at  Penzance;  Faraday's  electric  machine,  made   with  a  bottle; 

Brown   of  Haddington's  working  at   Greek    while  a   shepherd; 

John  Leyden's  turning  the  country  church  Into  a  secret  studv 

were  hints  of  the  future  men.     First  love  is  commonly  last  luve, 

as  well,  in  pursuits,  as  in  all  things.- 
9 

1  Theodore  T.  Munger.  2  c.  Geikie,  D  D. 


114 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 

Heard  are  tlie  Voices, 
Heard  are  the  Sages, 
The  AVorkls  and  the  Ages: 
"Choose  well,  vour  choice  is 
Brief  and  vet  endless. 


Here  eye>  do  regard  yon, 
In  Eternity's  stillness- 
Here  i^  all  fullness, 
Ye  brave,  t  >  reward  you ; 
AVork,  and  despair  not.''  ^ 


Misdirection. — Many  a  failure  in  life  may  be  traced  directly 
to  the  arbitrary  choice  of  a  career,  bv  others,  for  a  young  man. 
To  suit  a  parent  or  guardian's  fancies,  perhaps  kind,  perhnps 
willful  and  stupid,  many  arc  sacrificed  to  pursuits  for  which  they 
have  no  taste.  In  an  ungenial  occupation,  life  is  spent  in 
attempts  at  change,  or  in  dispirited  pining.  How  many  abandon 
the  employment  on  which  the  precious  years  of  youth  have  been 
wasted,  before  finally  fixing  their  course  in  life!  To  have  to 
plow  down  spring  crops,  and  sow  again  for  a  harvest,  is  a  • 
calamity  to  be,  to  the  utmost,  avoided.  It  is  always  hard  to 
know  what  to  do  with  ourselves  in  early  youth :  our  inexperi- 
ence; -our  indecision;  our  very  position,  leaving  us  often  ill  able 
to  take  the  best  course.  .  .  .  D'Israeli's  epigram  has  too 
much  truth  in  it,  that  "  Youth  is  a  blunder;  manhood  a  struggle; 
old  age   a  regret;"'  and  from  no  cause   more  frequently  than  a 


wrong  start."' 


One  man,  perhaps,  proves  miserable  in  the  study  of  the  law, 
who  might  have  flourished  in  that  of  physic  or  divinity;  another 
runs  his  head  against  the  pulpit,  who  might  have  been  service- 
able to  his  country  at  the  plow;  and  a  thiul  proves  a  very  dull 
and  heavy  philosopher,  who  possibly  would  have  made  a  good 


1  Goethe. 


«  Gcikie. 


MAN   IN   ACTION, 


115 


mechanic,  and  have  done  well  e^iough  at  the  useful  philosophy 
of  the  spade  or  anvil. ^ 

Young  persons  are  exceedingly  apt  to  overrate  their  abilities 
or  to  mistake  their  quality  ;  and  you  will,  perhaps,  cite  the  scores 
of  prosaic  youths  who  annually  come  to  town,  with  tlieir  carpet- 
bags bursting  with  romances  or  epics  in  twentv-four  books   or 
will,  perhaps,  ask,  Did  not  Liston  imagine  that  he  was  born  to 
play  "Macbeth?'^  and  did  not  Douglas  Jerrold  project  a  treatise 
on  natural  philosophy?     Did  not  David,  the  painter,  fancy  he 
was  cut  out  for  a  diplomatist  ?     Did  not  Jonquil,  who  painted 
flowers  and  fruits  so  exquisitely,  begin  with  enormous  cartoons? 
And  where  is  the  Jones  who  has  spouted  in  a  debating  club  that 
does  not  imagine  himself  an  embryo  Clay,  destined  to  electrify 
the  United  States  Senate  by  his  tremendous  outbursts  againJt 
some  future  Jackson  or  Yan  Buren  ?      Doubtless  mistakes  are 
made,  even  more  egregious  than  these ;  yet,  after  all  deductions, 
the  general  truth  remains  that  men  are  designed  for  particular 
callings,  and  that  it  is  unwise  to  neglect  those  callings  for  others. 
Some  boys  are  fitted  for  mechanical  pursuits,  others  just  as  evi- 
dently for  commercial.     Scholastic  pursuits  disgust  some,  who 
yawn  over  every  book  in  spite  of  the  pedagogue's  frown,  while 
others,  having  no   taste  for  farming,  or  trading,  or  mechanical 
labor,  are  all  alive  when  bending  over  a  volume  of  history,  or 
following  pious  ^Eneas  in  his  wanderings,  or  watching  the  reve- 
lations of  the  microscope.     Even  where  nature's  indications  are 
obscure,  it  is  not  safe  to  neglect  them.     The  proclivities  of  the 
mind  may  be  none  the  less  strong,  though  latent,  and  It  is  the 
parent's  duty  to  watch  long  and  i  atiently  till  he  is  certain  what 
thev  are.^ 

It  is  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  find  what  our  proper  gift 
is.     A  man  who  might  be  extremely  useful  in  one  situation  o-oes 


1  South. 


2  Mathews. 


^ 


IIG 


MAN  AND   HIS   DELATIONS. 


MAN   IN    ACTION. 


117 


into  a  place  and  work  he  has  no  talent  for,  and  so  loses  his  labor, 
and  his  life  is  of  no  profit.  He  has  mistaken  his  calling,  we  say. 
That  word  ^'calling''  indicates  the  old  religious  feeling  about 
occupation;  it  expresses  that  we  should  do  that  work  which  we 
are  called  to  do,  not  the  work  we  choose  ourselves.  Well  would 
it  be  for  vounir  men  enterincr  life  to  fall  back  on  this  old  idea. 
Now  a  young  man  selects  the  business  which  he  thinks  will  give 
him  the  best  chance  of  making  a  fortune,  of  getting  a  good 
position  in  society,  of  leading  an  easy  and  comfortable  life.  He 
does  not  ask:  "To  what  business  am  I  called?  For  what  has 
God  given  me  capacity?  In  what  can  I  be  the  most  useful  to 
the  world  and  do  the  most  good  ?  AVhat  occupation  suits  my 
special  gift  and  power?"  But,  not  asking  such  questions,  he  not 
only  throws  away  usefulness,  but  happiness  with  it. 

Let  every  one  be  himself,  and  not  try  to  be  some  one  else. 
God,  who  looked  on  the  world  He  had  made,  and  said  it  was  all 
good,  made  each  of  us  to  be  just  what  our  own  gifts  and  faculties 
fit  us  to  be.  Be  that,  and  do  that,  and  so  be  contented.  Rever- 
ence, also,  each  other's  gifts;  do  not  quarrel  with  me  because  I 
am  not  von,  and  I  will  do  the  same.  God  made  your  brother  as 
well  as  yourself.  He  made  you,  perhaps,  to  be  bright;  he  made 
him  slow;  he  made  you  practical;  he  made  him  speculative;  he 
made  one  strong  and  another  weak,  one  tough  another  tender; 
but  the  same  good  God  made  us  all.  Let  us  not  torment  each 
other  because  we  are  not  all  alike,  but  believe  that  God  knew 
best  what  he  was  doing  in  making  us  so  difTerent.  So  will  the 
best  harmony  come  out  of  seeming  discords,  the  best  affection 
out  of  differences,  the  best  life  out  of  struggle,  and  the  best 
Avork  will  be  done  when  each  does  his  own  work,  and  lets  every 
one  else  do  and  be  what  God  made  him  for.* 

If  you  desire  to  represent  the  various  parts  in  life  by  holes 

1  James  Freeman  Clarke. 


in  a  table  of  different  shapes— some  circular,  some  triangular, 
some  square,  some  oblong— and  the  persons  acting  these  parts 
by  bits  of  wood  of  similar  shapes,  we  shall  generally  find  that 
the  triangular  person  has  got  into  the  square  hole,  the  oblong 
into  (he  triangular,  while  the  square  persou  has  squeezed  himself 
into  the  round  hole.^ 

The  Merchant.- The  infatuatiou  which  induces  parents  to 
convert  their  sons  into  -  clerks,''  in  which  capacity   wearisome 
poverty  must  always  be  their  h)t;  the  delusion  tliat'sltting  on  a 
stool  and  adding  up  columns  of  figures  is  more  honorable  work 
than  "pushing''  a  large   business  or  carrying  on  a  respectable 
trade,  or  than  the  higher  forms  of  manual  labor,  must  always 
remain  inexplicable.     We  have  met  with  a  very  vivid  sketch  of 
the  ordinary  life  of  a  banker's  clerk,  and  have  every  reasou  to 
believe  in  its  accuracy.     It  does  not  rejiresent  the  position  as  one 
of  epicurean  ease  or  divine  independence.     He  is  born,  says  the 
writer,  to  a  high  stool.     He  is  taught  vulgar  fractions,  patience 
and  morals,  in  u  suburban  academy.     At  fourteen  he  shoulders 
the  office  quill  or  "Gillott's   Commercial."     He   copies    letters 
from  morning   till  night,  receiving  no  salary;  but  he  is  to  be 
remembered   at  Christmas.     He   is  out  in  all  weathers;  and  at 
twenty  is,  or  is  required  to  be,  thoroughly  impervious  to  rain, 
snow  and  sunshine.     At  last  he  gets  forty  pounds  per  annum! 
He  walks  five  miles  to  business  and  five  miles  home.     He  never 
stirs   out    without    his    umbrella.     He    never     exceeds    twenty 
minutes  for  his  dinner.     He  runs  about  all  day  with  a  big  chain 
round  his  wai>t  and  a  gouty  bill-book  in  his  breast-pocket.     He 
marries,  and  asks  for  an   increase  of  salary.     He  is  told  ''the 
house  can  do  without  him."     He  reviews  every  day  a  large  array 
of  ledgers,  and  has  to  "  write  up  "  the  customers'  books  before  he 
leaves.     He  reaches  home  at  nine  o'clock,  and  falls  asleep  over 

» Sydney  Smith. 


lis 


MAX    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


the  yestcr(lay\s  paper,  borrowed  from  the  pnblic-hor.se.  He 
reaches  eighty  pounds  a  year,  lie  fancies  his  fortune  is  made; 
but  small  boots  and  shoes  and  large  school-bills  stop  him  on  the 
hi'1-broad  to  independence,  and  bring  him  no  nearer  to  Leviathan 
Ptothschild.  lie  tries  to  get  ^^  evening  employment/*'  but  his 
eyes  fail  him.  He  grows  old,  and  learns  that  the  firm  never 
pensions.  One  morning  his  stool  is  found  to  be  unoccupied,  and 
a  subscription  is  raised  amongst  his  old  companions  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  his  funeral.^ 

The  slow,  plodding,  illiterate,  chicken-hearted  merchant  has 
had    his    day.     The    man    avIio    would    be    rich,    and    attain    to 
eminence  in   his   calling,  in   this    latter    half  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  must  discard  the  old-fashioned  methods  of  getting  on  in 
the  world,  and  be  abreast  with  the  times.     A  new  epoch  has  been 
inau-airated,  and  all  thimrs  are  in  a  state  of  metamorphosis  and 
revolution.     Around    us,    on  every  side,  the    new    is    crowding 
aside  the  old,  and  ''improvement"  is  the  watchword  of  the  day. 
;Ma(hinerv    deemed    the  perfection  of  ingenuity  is  transformed 
into  old  iron  by  new  inventions;  the  new  ship  dashes  scornfully 
bv  the  naval  prodiov  of  last  vear,  and  the  steamer  laughs  at  them 
both.     The  railroad  engine,  as  it  rushes  l)y  the  crumbling  banks 
of  the  canal,  once  regarded  as  a  marvel,  screams  out  its  mockery 
at  the  barge  rotting  piecemeal.     The  cable  of  the  electric  tele- 
trraph  reaches  from  continent  to  continent,  and  men^s  thoughts 
speed    their    lightning-like    course    below    the    monsters  of  the 
deep,  and   through   realms   where  neither  light  nor  sound   has 
ever  penetrated.     Commerce  has  been  leavened  with  the  influ- 
ences   which    have    marked  these   mighty  changes,  and  from  a 
limited    and    easily   comprehended    has    become    a    complicated 
and  vast  affair.     It  is  no  longer  a  mere  dollar-and-cent  traffic, 
requiring  no  apprenticeship;    but   a    matter  tasking   the    mind 


1 W.  H.  Adams. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


119 


to  the  utmost,  to  be  mastered  on'v  bv  the  hi^hesr  sacacitv. 
and  after  the  profoundest  study  of  facts,  circumstances,  and 
2)rospects. 

The  growth  of  society,  acting  on  the  interests  of  trade,  exacts 
from  the  merchant  the  broadest  and  severest  culture.  Xo  jud^re 
or  juror  in  civil  or  criminal  case  ever  had  to  unravel  testimonv, 
to  sift  and  weigh  conflicting  statements,  more  carefully  than  a 
great  merchant  has  now  to  l)alance  probabilities,  and  decide 
what  and  when  it  is  best  to  buy  and  sell.  Only  the  sharpest 
sagacity,  tlie  most  far-reaching  penetration,  and  the  soundest 
judgment,  will  now^  enable  one  to  discriminate  between  profitable 
and  ruinous,  schemes  of  investment.  A  hundred  things  now 
affect  the  price  of  wheat,  tobacco,  sugar,  cotton,  wool,  that  once 
had  no  influence  on  their  value.  Within  a  few  years  articles  are 
unknown,  or  deemed  worthless,  such  as  petroleum,  ice,  guano, 
etc.,  have  created  a  new  trade;  and  who  can  tell  how  far  the  list 
mav  vet  be  extended? 

The  day  has  gone  by  when  mere  sagacity,  dexterity  and  tact 
would  qualify  a  man  to  be  a  first-rate  merchant.  A  knowled<>-e 
of  geography,  political  economy,  the  manners  and  enstoms  of 
foreign  countries,  and  a  hundred  other  things,  is  indispensable; 
and  heaven-born  genius  in  turned-down  collars  is  at  a  discount. 
The  times  demand  men  of  large,  liberal,  energetic  souls;  and  the 
man  who  insists  upon  doing  business  in  the  old-fashioned,  ioo-- 
trot,  humdrum  way,  is  as  much  out  of  place  as  he  who  insists  on 
traveling  with  an  ox-team  instead  of  by  railway,  or  upon  get- 
ting news  by  the  old  stage-coach  instead  of  by  the  lightning 
telegraph.  Under  these  circumstances,  who  can  wonder  that  so 
many  men  who  plunge  into  business  without  talents,  training  or 
knowdedge,  fail  to  get  on.^ 

I  think  it  is  rare  to  find  very  bad  men  among  thorough  busi- 

*  Mathews. 


120 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


jiess  men.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  good  business  man  is 
nece.'^sarily  religious,  or  even  necessarily  without  vices.  I  mean, 
simply,  that  it  is  difficult  to  be  strictly  honest  in  business,  and 
sensitive  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  business  engagements,  and 
thoroughly  punct;;al  in  the  fulfillment  of  all  business  obliga- 
tions, and  at  the  same  time  to  be  loose  in  morals  and  dissipated 
in  personal  habits.  I  iiave  great  respect  for  those  rigid  laws  of 
the  counting-room  which  regulate  the  dealings  between  man  and 
man,  and  which  make  the  counting-room  as  exact  in  all  matters 
of  time  and  exchange  as  a  banking-house  ;  which  ignore  friend- 
ship, aif.^ction,  and  all  personal  considerations  whatsoever; 
which  place  neighbors  and  brothers  on  the  same  platform  with 
enemies  and  nliens,  and  which  make  an  autocrat  of  an  account- 
ant, who  is,  at  the  same  time,  strictly  an  obedient  subject  of  his 
own  laws.  I  say  it  is  hard  for  a  man  to  enter  as  a  perfectly  har- 
monious element  into  this  grand  system  of  business,  and  submit 
himself  to  its  rigid  rules,  and  maintain  his  position  in  it  with 
perfect  integrity  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  a  very  bad  man.  To 
a  certain  extent  he  bows  to  and  obeys  a  high  standard  of  life. 
He  may  not  always  recognize  fully  the  moral  element  which  it 
embodies.  He  mav  take  a  selfish  view  of  the  whole  matter,  but 
he  can  not  be  entirely  insensible  to  the  principle  of  personal 
honor  which  it  involves,  or  fail  to  be  influenced  by  the  personal 
habits  which  it  enforces.  Some  of  the  best  business  men  I  have 
ever  known  have  been  the  most  charitable  men  I  have  ever 
known.  Men  who  have  acquired  wealth  by  rigid  adherence  to 
business  integrity,  and  who  have  sometimes  been  deemed  harsh 
and  hard  by  those  with  whom  they  have  had  business  relations, 
have  shown  a  liberality  and  a  generosity  toward  objects  of 
charity  which  have  placed  them  among  the  world's  benefactors. 
Men  who  have  exacted  the  last  fraction  of  a  cent  with  one  hand, 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


121 


in  the  way  of  business,  have  disbursed  thousands  of  dollars  with 
the  other,  in  the  way  of  charity.^ 

The  Lawyer. — Mr.  Jones  has  recently  commenced  the  prac- 
tice of  a  profession  of  which  I  possess  no  intimate  knowledge. 
I  know,  generally,  that  it  is  a  respectable  profession,  which 
requires  in  those  who  successfully  pursue  it  the  best  style  of 
intellectual  power,  thorough  industry,  and  a  vast  amount  of 
special  learning.  I  know  that  it  is  a  profession  which,  in  times 
of  peace,  attracts  to  itself  the  most  ambitious  young  men, 
because  it  affords  the  best  opportunities  for  rising  to  positions 
of  influence  and  power.  I  know,  also,  that  while  it  is  prosti- 
tuted to  the  basest  uses — as  any  profession  may  be — it  fills  a 
want  in  the  establishment  of  justice  between  man  and  man,  and 
occupies  a  legitimate  and  an  important  place  in  society.  I  can 
very  honestly  congratulate  him  on  his  connection  with  his  pro- 
fession and  his  prospects  in  it.  Will  he  kindly  read  what  an 
outsider  has  to  say  of  its  dangers  and  duties? 

The  principal — perhaps  the  only — dangers  which  lie  in  his 
way  relate  to  his  personal  character.  I  regard  him  as  a  Chris- 
tian young  man,  and  I  find  him  in  a  profession  which  necessarily 
brings  him  into  contact  with  the  meanest  and  the  vilest  elements 
in  the  community.  Almost  every  day  of  his  life  he  finds  him- 
self in  communication  with  men  whose  motives  are  vile  and 
whose  characters  are  base.  He  is  obliged  to  associate  with  them. 
He  not  unfrequently  finds  his  interests  and  sympathies  engaged 
in  their  behalf.  Almost  the  whole  education  of  the  court-room — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  office — is  an  education  in  the  ways  of  sin. 
It  is  there  that  murder  and  robbery,  and  adultery  and  swindling, 
and  cruelty,  and  all  the  forms  of  crime  and  vice,  are  exposed  to 
their  minutest  details,  and,  as  a  lawyer,  he  is  necessarily  absorbed 
by  these  details.     There  is  not  a  form  of  vice  with  which  he  is 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


1 


122 


MAN   AND    III3   RELATIONS. 


MAN   IN    ACTION. 


123 


not  bound  to  become  familiar.  All  the  meanncs]  aiul  all  the 
rottenness  of  human  nature  and  human  character,  and  all  the 
modes  (f  their  exhibition,  must  come  into  contact  uitli  him 
and  leave  their  mark.  How  this  can  bo  done  Avithout  t!ie 
bluntinir  of  his  sensibilities,  I  do  not  know.  How  this  can 
be  done  without  damaging,  if  not  destroying,  his  moral  sense,  is 
beyond  my  comprehension.  I  have  heard  very  good  lawyers 
talk  about  the  most  shocking  cases  in  a  shockingly  jirofcssional 
way,  and  witnessed  their  amusement  wit!i  the  details  of  some 
beastlv  case  that  had  found  its  wav  into  the  court-room.  I 
should  bo  vcrv  sorrv  to  think  that  our  voun<^  lawver  could 
ever  acquire  such  moral  indiflPerence,  yet  1  know  that  he  may, 
and  believe  that  he  will,  if  he  does  not  guard  himself  ]>articu- 
la^lv  a<j:ain.-t   it. 

It  seems  to  me  quite  impossible  that  a  man  should  have  a  i)ro- 
fessional  interest  in  the  details  of  a  case  of  crime  without  losing 
somf^tliiivi^ '-.f  tho  iiinrnl  rcinrjcnance  \\itli  \\hi<-li  tiic  ('a>  >  v.-ould 
luuiirally  i!i-}>l:-r  liiiii.  1  mi!)|h.-~'  t'.ia;  tlii-  loss  of  moral  sen>i- 
bilir.'  iiKiN'  not  nec•L'>^saril^■  ^o  iicconipanicd  1)\'  uutiuil  denravitv. 
Yt  t  it  is,  neveilh<']i--,  an  cxil,  i'^v  i:  (!;■<;  roy^  on.'  .'ftlic  1)ari-icrs 
ti»  del);- t\'it\".  Anv  inthionc  •  wliich  familiai'izcs  the  mind  \vith 
sin  an;]  criin  ■  to  -u<'li  a:i  oxtont  tliat  >in  and  r-rim^^  runiso  to  fill 
the  s(ml  \\ith  Lorroi'  or  di.-^-n.-t,  is  mnch  to  Ik-  (]cj)rec'ated.  If  he 
liad  a  x'Munu"  son  or  a  N'onnLT  daughter,  l;o  \\'onl(l  I'cLi'a.rd  anv  cN'ont 
wliicli  wonld  briu'j;  their  niimls  into  laniiliaiaty  with  erinu'  as  a 
calamitv.  It  would  i)rol)ablv  be  a  u'reater  ealaniitv  to  tlieni  than 
to  liini,  but  wliv  it  slioiild  be  ditfereiit  in  kind,  F  can  not  tell.  I 
think  he  has  onlv  ti)  loolv  around  him,  amomj;  his  own  profes- 
hion,  to  find  men  who  hav(^  received  incurable  damaire  thj-outi^h 
their  pr(»fessional  intimacy  with  >'.n.  He  must  know  mindiers  of 
lawvers  ^\ho  take  an  intere.-t  which  is  anvthiiiLi'  but  ])rofessional 


I 


^ 


in  the  details  of  a  case  of  shame  that  ought  to  fill  them  with  an 
abhorrence  so  deep  that  they  would  gladly  fly  from  It. 

Again,  constant  familiarity  with  the  weak  and  the  erring  side 
of  human  nature  destroys  respect  for  human  nature  itself.  The 
more  Mr.  Jones  learns  of  the  members  of  the  legal  profession, 
the  more  he  will  learn  that  great  numbers  of  them  have  ceased 
to  respect  human  nature.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  t\\G 
greatest  calamities  that  can  befall  any  man.  T  do  not  wonder  i;t 
this  effect  at  all.  There  is  no  class  of  people  in  the  Avorld  tliat 
see  so  great  cause  to  hold  human  nature  in  contempt  as  the  legal. 
Thev  come  into  contact  with  men  whom  the  world  calls  honor- 
able  and  good,  and  find  in  IIkmu  sucli  traits  of  meainness,  and 
such  hypocrisy  and  dishonor,  and  s^uch  readiness  to  be  crippled 
under  lenijjtation,  and  such  initrnthfulness  under  the  pi'e»ure  of 
self-interest,  that  thev  natural! v  enoui^h  conclude  that  oiie  man 
is  about  as  bad  as  another,  and  that  no  man  is  to  be  relied  nj)oii 
where  ]\\<  appetites  or  his  selfisli  interests  are  concerned.  I  sav 
that  r  do  not  wonder  at  this,  but  it  is  nuich  to  be  deprecated  ; 
and  1  know  of  no  way  to  avoid  it,  except  bv  free  a»ociat;ou 
with  good  men  and  innocent  women  and  children.  AVhen  a  man 
has  lost  his  respect  for  human  nature,  he  has  lost,  necessarily,  liis 
respect  for  himself;  for,  whether  he  wills  it  or  not,  he  goes  with 
his  kind. 

But  there  is  another  danger  still  which  will  assail  him,  more 
sul)tle  and  more  damaging  than  professional  interest  in  crime,  or 
jirofessional  intimacy  with  the  worst  side  of  human  nature,  and 
this  is  professional  interest  in  criminals  themselves.  I  am  sorrv 
to  say  it,  but  he  will  find  himself  the  prefessional  defender  of 
men  whom  he  knows  to  be  the  foes  of  society — of  thieves,  pick- 
pockets, gamblers,  murderers,  seducers,  swindlers.  lie  will  find 
himself  either  lying  or  tem]")ted  to  lie,  in  order  to  shield  from 


(h 


124 


ma::  and  nr^  kklatioxs. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


125 


>i  - 


ii  ; 


V, 


justice  men  whmn  lie  knows  uuglit  to  l)e  punislied.     He  will  find 
himseir  arrayed   aixain^t   law  and   order,  against  the  i>eaee  of  the 
commonwealth,  au^alnst  the  nurltv  of -oeletv,  tigalnst  morals  and 
relh'-iun    la  the  defen-e  (»f  a  man  whom  he  knows  to  he  guilty  of 
the  crime  charired  airain-t  him,  and  deserving  of  the  ]);in;shment 
attached  to  It  1-y  the   laws   nf  the   land.      I   say   'Mie,"   hecau.-e   I 
suppose  he   will    naturally  follow   in   the  track   of  tlic    principal 
members  cf  his  profession.      Every  criminal   is  defended  to  the 
utm()>t  l)v  men  who   are   zea!ou>   in   their  attempt   to  prove  him 
innocent,   ai<l    to   s!iield   him   from    punishment.      (Ireat  proles- 
siouLil   reputation-    are   s<Mnetime^   ac<pilred   hy   saving   (\'nm   the 
o-allows  a  man  whom  evv'rvhodv  is   niorallv  certain   ought   to  he 
han-'-ed.      A  trlunu.h  of  crime   h.ke   this  is  (UK.tcd   admiringly  hy 
the   profe^iou,   an*l    regarded    with    complacent    triumph   hy   the 
professional  victor.     I  have  heard  men  t;dk  hy  the  h^ur  to  prove 
that  to  he  true  which  they  ar.<l  everybody  else  knew,  in  all  moral 
ccrtalntv,  to  he  fal-e,  and  to  demonstrate  the  innocence  of  a  man 
whom  thev  knew  to  he  guilty.      Indeed,  this  mode  of  proeeedin;^ 
has  become  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  the  law,  and  is  reeognized 
as  entlrclv  le<i:ltlmate.     We  hear,  occasionally,  of  cases  so  b-.d  tiiat 
the  counsel   cngage<I  in    the   defense   thr.)W   ihem    up    in    d.s;rust; 
hut  these  ar.^  verv  rare,  and  I  doubt  whether  .-ucli  a  s;irrcndir   is 
rCLxarded  a-  a  fair  tiling  by  t!:e  profession. 

Now,  I  ask  him,  before  pr<»:es.sl(ural  usaie  ha-  h;i<l  time  to  warp 
his  cjmmon  sense,  what  nui-t  be  the  e{fect  upon  the  mind  ^)i'  an 
advocate  of  throwing  the  entire  .-urn  (f  h's  personal  ])ower  Into 
the  defense  of  a  man  who,  he  has  good  reason  t  >  believe,  i<  a  fo(^ 
tj  law  a:;>l  order,  and  ju>t!y  deserving  of  punishment  i^^v  a 
breach  of  both?  Y.'hat  must  be  the  clTect  of  identlfylnjr  his 
own  personal  and  professional  reputation  with  the  success  of  a 
criminal,  in  his  attempt  to     liield  himself  from  justice?     AVhat 


'^4: 

P^:^ 


must  be  the  effect  upon  his  mind  of  a  triumph  over  the  law  for 
lilmself,  and  for  him  who  has  trampled  it  under  his  feet?  I 
knov,'  that  there  is  specious  style  of  argument  In  use  In  his  pro- 
fession which  takes  the  decision  of  a  case  otit  of  the  hands  of  a 
criminal's  professional  defender^  and  gives  It  to  the  jury  before 
which  he  is  to  l)e  tried.  The  lawvers  will  sav  that  an  advocate 
has  no  right  to  decide  on  the  guilt  of  a  man  on  trial— that  his 
work  is  to  defend ;  and  that  twelve  men,  whose  business  under 
the  law  it  is,  will  make  the  decision.  This  Is  strictly  profes- 
sional talk— tlie  talk  of  men  who  make  a  distinction  between 
lav,'  and  iustlce — the  talk  of  men  who  stand  bv  that  whicli  is 
simply  legal,  and  let  justice  and  right  take  care  of  themselves. 
These  men  wotdd  sav  that  if  thev  were  cno^acfcd  in  the  defense 
of  a  person  who  thev  were  morallv  certain  was  fruiltv  of  the 
crime  charged  upon  him,  they  would  not  be  excusable  did  they 
not  d(.  what  thev  could  to  save  liim,  bv  a  resort  to  everv  legcal 
trick  and  (lulbble  of  which  thev  ml<i;ht  be  the  masters.  This  is 
preciselv  what  they  di».  They  personally  rejoice  in  the  defeat  of 
justice.  AVhenever  justice  is  defeated,  and  right  denied  or 
destroyed,  in  "  a  court  of  justice/'  there  is  always  present  one 
lawyer  to  rejoice  personally  over  the  fact — a  lawyer  whose 
sympathies  and  success  are  identified  with  the  triumph  of  the 
wrong-doer. 

I  rcmendjcr,  when  a  lad,  witnessing  an  Interview  between  a 
couple  of  young  lawyers — each  of  whom  has  come  to  great 
personal  and  })olItical  honor  since  then — which,  to  my  imso- 
phlsticated  moral  sense,  was  qtilte  shocking.  One  had  been 
attending  a  term  of  court  In  an  adjoining  county,  for  the  manage- 
ment of  an  important  case  in  which  both  were  interested.  The 
returning  lawyer  greeted  liis  associate  with  a  triumphant  flourlsli 
of  his  ridinii;  stick,  and  exclaimed:  ''  AVeN'C  beaten  them  I  we^'e 


126 


MAN-    AND    1113    RELATIONS. 


MAX    IX    ACTION. 


12' 


l.rnt(>n  them!"  Thcreupi)n  liicv  glcoiully  talked  tlio  matter 
over.  It  seemed  very  .strange  to  me  tliat  they  eould  rejoice  at 
huviiK^  '4)eaten  them,"  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the 
matter  of  jiistiec  and  right.  If  the  man  had  been  engaged  in  a 
personal  fight  or  a  horse-raoe,  and  had  e;>me  off'  the  winner,  he 
would  have  expressed  his  triumph  in  the  same  way,  and  with 
just  as  little  reference  to  the  moral  aspects  and  relations  of  the 
case.  This  was  a  professional  triumph,  and  it  did  r.ot  matter, 
apparently,  whether  justice  had  shared  the  victory  witli  him  or 
had  been  vanquished  with  his  opponents  in  the  suit.  This  pro- 
fessional indifTerencc  to  justice  and  to  right,  acquired  by  the 
identification  of  his  own  personal  success  with  the  safety  and 
success  of  those  whom  he  knows,  or  believes,  to  be  criminals,  is 
^vhat  I  v/arn  our  yoinig  lawyers  against.  T  tell  him  that  this 
can  not  be  indulged  in  without  injury  to  him,  and  were  it  not 
an  uno-rateful  and  offensive  task,  I  could  refer  him  to  illustrious 
instinces  of  l:'gal  depravity,  induced  by  earnest  defense  of  the 
wrong.  I  could  point  him  to  eminent  lawyers,  with  whom  lying 
is  as  easy  as  breathing — men  who  do  not  scruple  to  misrepresent, 
misconstrue,  prevaricate,  cheat,  resort  to  all  moan  and  unworthy 
subterfuges,  ftuppress,  make  use  of  all  available  means  to  carry 
a  point  against  hiw  and  good  society  and  pure  morals,  in  favor 
of  ruffians  who  desjrve  nothing  better  than  the  halter  or  tlu 
prison.  A  lawyer  has  only  to  do  this  thing  to  a  sufficient  extent, 
with  suffii-ient  earnestness,  to  los,.^  both  his  sense  of  and  respect 
for  the  right,  and  to  become  morally  worthless.     .     .     . 

The  fact  that  the  money  of  thieves  and  scoundrels  will  buy 
the  best  legal  service  to  be  had,  is  notorious,  and  it  is  but  a  short 
time  ago  that  it  appeared  in  evidence,  in  a  court  of  justice,  that 
a  certain  crime  was  committed  by  a  man  who,  calculating  his 
chances  for  detection,  relied  upon  a  certain  lawyer  to  '^  get  him 


^ 


off."  Was  that  lawyer  practically  a  friend  or  a  fo^i  to  teoc-lciv? 
Had  1)0  a  ridit  ]>rofessionally,  or  in  any  way,  so  to  conduct  liiin- 
self  as  to  encourage  the  commission  of  crime? 

But  1  leave  this  ])oiTit  for  one  closely  i-.latcd  to  it.  The  v.h.ijc 
tendency  of  the  legal  profession,  as  it  s(?ems  to  me,  is  a  substitu- 
tion of  a  human  for  a  divine  rule  of  action.  1  think  tliat  ii 
lawyer  naturally  comes  to  view  every  action  and  every  man  from 
a  legal  standpoint.  All  his  practical  dealings  with  men  are  on 
a  legal  basis.  If  there  be  a  hole  in  the  law,  large  enough  to  let 
through  his  criminal  client,  the  lawyer  will  pull  him  through. 
A  flaw  in  an  indictment  will  spoil  a  case  legally,  while  morally 
and  rationally  it  is  not  touched  at  all  The  lawyer  feels  justified 
to  do  anything  that  is  legal  to  favor  his  client  or  his  cause.  His 
conscience  has  come  to  identify  that  whidi  is  legal  with  that 
which  is  right.  The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect;  the  law  of  man 
is  imperfect;  and  the  lawyer's  constant  association  with  the 
latter  naturally  crowds  the  other  out  of  sight.  He  measures  the 
actions  of  men  by  that  prescriptive  red  tape  of  his,  and  the 
standard  of  right  within  his  own  soul  is  degraded.^ 

Sir  Mathew  Hale,  whenever  he  was  convinced  of  the  injustice 
of  any  cause,  would  engage  no  more  in  it  than  to  explain  to  his 
client  the  grounds  of  that  conviction;  he  abhorred  the  practice 
of  misreciting  evidence,  quoting  precedents  in  books  falsely  or 
unfairly,  so  as  to  deceive  ignorant  juries  or  inattentive  jud^^cs; 
and  he  adhered  to  the  same  scrupulous  sincerity  in  his  pleadings 
which  he  observed  in  the  other  transactions  of  life.  It  was  as 
great  a  dishonor  as  a  man  was  capable  of,  that  for  a  little  money 
he  was  hired  to  say  otherwise  than  he  thought.^ 

The  law  is  a  science  of  such  vast  extent  and  intricacv,  of  such 
severe  log'c  and  nice  dependencies,  that  it  always  tasked  the 
highest  minds  to  reach  even  its  ordinarv  boundaries.     But  emi- 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


swhately. 


128 


MAN  AND  HI3  RELATIONS. 


MAN    IN   ACTION. 


129 


nence  in  It  can  never  be  attained  ^vitho^t  tlie  most  laborious 
stiulv,  united  with  talents  of  a  superior  order.  There  is  no  royal 
road  to  guide  us  thmugh  its  labyrinths.  These  are  to  be  pene- 
trated by  skill,  and  mastered  by  a  frequent  survey  of  landmarks. 
It  has  almost  passed  into  a  proverb  that  the  lucubrations  of 
t^venty  years  will  do  little  more  than  conduct  us  to  the  vestibule 
of  the  temple;   and  an  equal    period    may  well    be  devoted  to 

exploring  the  recesses.^ 

The  Politician.— Every  thorough  politician  in  the  world— 
every  man  in  whom  love  of  party  is  stronger  than  love  of  coun- 
try-levery  man  in  whom  the  love  of  power  is  the  predominant 
n/otive^is  a  jmssible  traitor.     It  matters  not  what  party  he  may 
belong  to.     I  make  the  proposition  broad  enough  to  embrace  all 
parties,  and  believe 'in  it,  as  I  believe  in  any  fundamental  truth 
of  the  U!iiverse.     A  politician  is  a  man  who  looks  at  all  public 
afllurs  from  a  selfish  standpoint.    He  loves  power  and  office,  and 
all  that  power  and  office  bring  of  cash  and  consideration.    Public 
measures  are  all   tried   by  the   standard  of  i)arty  interest.     A 
measure  which  threatens  to  take  away  his  power,  or  to  reduce 
his  personal  or  party  influence,  is  always  opposed.     A  measure 
which  promises  to  strengthen  his  power  or  that  oi  the  party  to 
which  he  is  attached,  is  always  favored.     The  good  of  his  coun- 
try is  a  matter  of  secondary  consideration.     His  venality  and 
untruthfulness  are  as  calculable,  under  given  circumstances,  as  if 
he  were  Satan  himself.     I  know  of  no  person  so  reliably  uncon- 
scientious as  the  thorough  politician,  and  there  is  no  politician 
of  any  stripe  that  I  would  trust  with  the  smallest  public  interest 
if  I   could   not  see   that   his   selfishness    harmonized   with  the 
requirements  of  the  service.     Therefore,  I  say  that  every  poli- 
tician is  a  possible  traitor.     There  is  not  a  man  in  America  who 
loves  his  party  better  than  his  country,  or  who  permits  party 


\r 


^1 


motives  to  control  him  In  the  discharge  of  his  duties  as  a  citizen, 
who  would  not  betray  his  country  at  the  call  of  his  partv.     .     .     . 

Theoretically,  we  are  a  self-governing  nation;  practically,  we 
are  governed  by  designing  politicians.  Theoretically,  the  people 
select  their  own  candidates  for  office,  and  elect  them ;  practicallv, 
every  candidate  for  office  is  selected  by  the  politicians,  the  candi- 
date himself  being  of  the  number,  and  the  people  are  only  used 
for  voting,  and  for  confirming  the  decrees  of  their  political 
leaders.  For  fifty  years  this  country  has  not  been  governed  in 
the  interest  of  patriotism,  or  been  governed  by  the  people.  For 
fifty  years  patriotism  has  not  ruled  in  Washington,  or  in  any  of 
the  political  centers  of  the  nation.  Occasionally,  a  true  patriot 
has  been  placed  in  powder,  but  it  has  always  been  a  matter  of 
accident.  Occasionally,  a  patriot  has  been  '^available"  for 
carrying  out  the  purposes  of  the  politicians,  in  their  strife  for 
power.  But  often  imbecility  and  rascality  have  been  found 
^^ available,"  and  politicians  have  not  failed  to  take  advantage  of 
the  fact.  Selfish  party  men  have  ruled  the  country,  and  selfish 
party  men  are  trying  to  ruin  it.  It  is  beyond  dispute  that  the 
political  leaders  of  the  people  of  this  country  have  uniformly 
been  men  w^ithout  religion,  and  without  even  the  pretension  of 
religion.  When  a  political  man  or  a  candidate  for  office  has 
been  found  to  be  religious,  the  fact  has  been  advertised  as  a 
remarkable  one.  Let  us  look  at  the  great  political  leaders;  then 
at  the  k\-ser  ones;  then  at  the  wdiole  brood  of  petty  politicians 
who  are  their  tools  and  the  recipients  of  their  favors.  There 
can  not  be  found  in  all  the  countrv  a  class  of  men  less  re<rardless 
of  Christian  obligations,  or  more  thoroughly  the  devotees  of 
selfish  interest.     .     .     . 

How  is  it  with  Mr.  Jones?     I  remember  the  time  when  he 

was  not  only  a  patriot,  but  professedly  a  Christian.     I  remember 
10 


1  Joseph  Story. 


s 


I 


130 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


131 


^■hen  he  first  held  office  ;  an.l  of  the  Christian  patriotism  which 
actuated  him  in  his  first  party  strife,  I  never  had  a  doubt.     He 
worked  faithfullv  and  well  for  what  he  believed  to  be  the  nght. 
The  selfish  crowd  with  whom  he  now  associates  looked  upon  h>m 
with  approval,  because  he  helped  them  ;  but  they  regarded  h.m 
,s  verdant,  and  knew  with  measurable  certainty  that  his  gener- 
ous zeal  would  soon   find  rest  in  calculating  selfishness.      His 
term  of  offi.^e  expired,  and  he  was  in  want  of  office  again,  and 
then  he  found  himself  in  the  hands  of  those  who,  he  had  already 
learned,   were    unprincipled.     They    had    called    upon    lun.    for 
monev  for   partv    purposes -money    which   he  knew  would  be 
spent"  in  an  unchristian  way,  and  he  had  given  it  t„  them.     He 
became    aware   that   they  had    placed  a    market   value    on    his 
Christian  character,  and  had  calculated  on  the  amount  that  his 
patriotic  unselfishness  would  add  to  their  capital.     He  learned 
then  to  scheme  with  them.     He  grew  unscrupulous  in  the  use  of 
means.     He  learned  to  regard  politics  as  a  game,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  become  a  player.     It  took  hut  a  short  time  for  him  to 
become  an  adept,  an.l  when  he  had  conquered  the  political  trade 
thorouuhlv,  he  had  become  a  demoralized  man.     I  do  not  think 
him  a  debauchee,  or  a  thief,  or  a  murderer ;  but  he  has  lost  his 
sinceritv,  his   moral   honesty,   his   Christian    purpose,    and   his 
patriotism.     I   can    hardly    imagine    a   character    more    utterly 
vahalcs.  than  his.     He  has  come  to  measuring  everything  by  a 
partv  standard.     He  looks   upon   every  public  question,  every 
matter  of  policy,  and  every  event,  as  a  party  man.     He  belongs 
to  that  hclli.sh  brood  of  political  buzzards  who  can  not  hear  of 
a  battle,  or  scent  a  rumor  of  war,  or  of  peace  even,  without  cal- 
culating first  what  party  advantage  can  be  gained  from  it.' 

If  there  be  a  man  on  earth  whose  character  should  be  framed 
of  the  most  sterling  honesty,  and  whose  conduct  should  conform 


i  Dr.  Holland. 


to  the  most  scrupulous  morality,  it  is  the  man  who  administers 
public  affairs.  The  most  romantic  notions  of  integrity  are  here 
not  extravagant.  As,  under  our  institutions,  public  men  will  hv, 
upon  the  whole,  fair  exponents  of  the  character  of  their  con.stit- 
uents,  tlie  plainest  way  to  secure  honest  public  men  is  to  inspii-e 
those  who  make  them  with  a  right  understanding  of  what 
political  character  ought  to  be.  Young  men  should  be 
prompted  to  discriminate  between  the  specious  and  the  real,  the 
artful  and  the  honest,  the  wise  and  the  cunning,  the  patriotic 
and  the  pretender.^ 

The  Physician.— There  is  no  profession  for  which  a  man 
can  have  a  heartier  liking  than  for  the  medical  profession.    'For 
while  it  may  be  said  in  the  rough  that  the  law  feeds  and  fattens 
upon  the  vices  and  passions  of  humanity,  the  medical  profession 
pursues  a  godlike,  beneficent  mission  in    administering  to  our 
diseases    and    unhappiness.     We  may  now  and  then  hear  of  a 
medical  man  who  evidently  makes   lucre  his  chief  object,  and 
acts  severely  toward   the  poor,  but,  as  a  rule,  the  medical  man 
constantly  relinquishes  his  just  and  hardly  earned  gains,  and  in 
many  a  household  is  an  angel  of  help  and  consolation.     It  is  a 
matter  of  regret  that  medicine  is  not  a  profession  in  which  a  man 
has  a  clear  field  and  no  favor.     The   man   who  wishes  to  be  a 
consulting  physician  must  wait  long  and  spend    much  inoney, 
and  drive  about  in  a  carriage  to  enable  him  to  keep  one.     It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  medical  education  and  medical  degrees  will  be 
put  upon  a  better  footing  than  has  for  some  time  been  the  case. 
It  is  lamentable  to  think  of  the  young  men  who,  by  a  process  of 
cram,  can  pass  their  examinations,  and  forthwith  obtain  a  license 
to  kill,  slay,  and  destroy.     At  the  same  time,  it  is  satisfactory  to 
know  that  the  profession  abounds  with  able  and  deserving  men 
and  that  they  contrive  to  do  well  in  the  long  run.     They  do  not 

*  Beecher. 


132 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


luake  fortunes,  but  they  get  good  incomes.     Even  tbe  poorest 
„,an  can  struggle  to  the  front.     He  walks  the  hospital  to  some 
purpose-becomes  house-surgeon;  perhaps  he  is  only  an  apothe- 
cary  but  collects  a  connection  and  sinks  the  shop;  perhaps  he  is 
a^sis'tant  to  a  practitioner,  obtains  some  public  appointment,  and 
gets  into  general    practice.     Perhaps  there  are  as   really  good 
n.en  in  the  provinces  or  in  the  East  End  of  London  as  among 
the  famous  or  titled    physicians  of  the  West  End.     Of  all  the 
T,rofcssions  that  a  man  can  practice,  setting  aside  the  min.sterial- 
xvhich  may  be  considered  the  most  important,  but  in  which  we 
can  rarelv  trace  visible  results-there  is  none  more  glorious  or 
elevatiu"  than  the  uiedical  profession.' 

I  have  abundant  reason  to  hold  this  gentleman  in  profound 
and  tender  respect.     His  devotion  to  me  in  sickness,  his  benevo- 
lent self-sacrifice  among  the  poor,  his  sympathy  for  the  young 
and  the  weak,  his  uniform  kindness  and  politeness  among  all 
classes  of  people,  and   the    Christian   spirit   and  the    Christian 
counsel  that  he  has  been  able  to  bear  through  all  those  scenes  of 
suffering  among  which  his  life  is  mainly  passed,  have  won  my 
reverent  affection.     I  have  never  heard  him  utter  a  coarse  word 
in  the  presence  of  a  woman,   or  jest  with  coarse  women   upon 
themes   with    which   his   j.rofession    makes    him    unpleasantly 
familiar.     He  is  a  Christian  gentleman  ;  and  may  God  bless  him 
for  all  the  comfort  and  courage  which  he  has  borne  to  a  thousand 
bods  of  .suffering  and  dying,  for  all   the  pleasant  words  he  has 
spoken  to  the  tender  and  the  young,  and  for  the  excellent  per- 
sonal example  which,  throughout  all  his  life  of  ministry,  has 
made  every  act  an  exhortation  to  noble  endeavor  and  his  pres- 
ence a  constant  benediction.     ... 

Why  should  Dr.  Jones  and  his  associates  set  up  for  exclusive 
possessors  of  medical  wisdom?    They  know  very  well  that  all 

1  Rev.  Frederick  Arnold. 


m 


MAN    IX    ACTION, 


133 


medicine  is  empiricism,  and  that  medicine  has  made  advances 
only  by  empiricism.     Their  true   policy  is  to   take  into  their 
hands,  and  honestly  and  faithfully  try,  all  those  remedies  which 
have  received  the  indorsement  of  any  considerable  number  of 
intelligent  men.     Their  duty  is  to  have  their  eyes  constantly 
open  for  improvement,  and  to  take  it  when  and  where  they  can 
get  it.     Almost  ever  system  of  quackery  under  heaven  has  been 
found  to  have  in  it  some  good — some  basis  of  truth,  some  valu- 
able power  or  principle— which  it  has  always  been  the  business 
of  the  regular  profession  to  seek  out  and  incorporate  into  their 
system.     Xo  man  of  sense  believes  in  universal  remedies ;  but 
because  a  remedy  is  not  nniversal,  it  is  not,  therefore,  valueless. 
Cold  water  can  not  cure  every  ill  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  but  the  fact 
that  it  can  cure  a  great  many  of  them  is  just  as  well  established 
as  any  fact  in  natural  philosophy.     The  regular  profession,  how- 
ever, will  not  use  cold  water,  because  cold  water  is  used  by 
quacks,  and  because  cold  water  is  claimed  by  some  quacks  to  be 
a  universal  remedv.     .     .     . 

Dr.  Jones  and  his  professional  brethren  have  a  very  hearty 
contempt  for  homeopathy,  but  homeopathy  is  to  do  him  and 
his  friends  good,  in  spite  of  themselves.  No  man  of  sense 
believes  that  allopathy  is  all  wrong  and  homeopathy  is  all  rio-ht 
but  a  man  must  be  an  idiot  to  suppose  that  a  system  of  medicine 
which  has  won  to  itself  large  numbers  of  skillful  men  from  the 
regular  profession,  and  secured  the  approval,  when  compared 
directly  with  the  regular  practice,  of  as  intelligent  people  as  can 
be  found  in  this  or  any  other  country,  has  nothing  of  good  in  it. 
For  them,  Avithout  experiment,  without  observation,  without 
careful  study,  to  call  homeopathy  a  system  of  unmitigated 
quackery,  and  to  hold  those  in  contempt  who  practice  and  patron- 
ize it,  is  a  piece  of  the  most  childish  arrogance.     This  is  neither 


^34  MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 

the  wuv  of  fue  science  nor  liberal  culture.     They  may  be  meas- 
„,.abi;certain  that  there  is  something  in  homeopathy  .or  hy, 
not  July  of  their  exau.ination,  but  of  incorporation  into  thejr 
.vstem  of  practice.     It  has  already  modified  their  practice  .vh.le 
Z  have  been   talking  and  acting  against  it.     They  are  not 
...dbiting  to-dav  a  third  as  much  medicine  as  they  d.d  before 
oincopatly  made  its  appearance.     It  has  UiUcd  the  old  sys  em 
of  large  dosing  forever.     This  is  a  fact;  and  .'hat  they  call     no 
^.edic^ie  at  all"  has  at  least  shown  Itself  to  be  better  than  too 
,uaeh  medicine,  even  when  administered   in   the  regular  way. 
Thev  sav  that  a  homeopathic  dose  can  not  affect  the  human  con- 
stitution", in  any  appreciable  degree.     A  million  men  and  women 
stand   readv  to-day  to   swear   that,  according   to    the.r  holiest 
belief  and  "best  knowledge,  they  have  themselves  been  sensibh 
affected  bv  homeopathic  doses,  and  that,  on  the  .vho  e,  tliey  pre- 
fer homeopathic  to  allopathic  practice  in  their  families,  judging 

from  a  long  series  of  results.  .„    f    t 

Xow   what  is  the  regular  profession  going  to  do  with  facts 
like  these?     Thev  can  not  dismiss  them  ^vith  a  contemptuous 
paragraph,  and  a  "wave  of  the  hand,  and  maintain  their  reputa- 
tion as  candid  men.     If  they  are  free  men,  and  not  under  bond- 
age to  the  most  contemptible  old   fogyism  that  the  world  ever 
Le  birth  to,  they  will  act  as  free  men.     They  will  permit  no 
man  to  limit  their  field  of  experiment  and  inquiry,  and  allow  no 
societv  or  clique  to  prevent  them  from  extending  medical  science 
over  "all  the  facts  of  medical  science,  wherever  they  may  find 
them.     I  am  a  champion  of  no  one  of  the  thousand  "  pathies 
that  oceupv  the  field  of  irregular  practice,  and  I  have  alluded 
to  two  of  them  onlv  because  they  are  prominent.     I  speak  ot 
Dr    Jones  simplv  as  a  searcher  after  truth ;  and  I  declare  my 
belief  that  the  profession  to  which  he  belongs  has  failed  to  keep 


IT 


W 


I 


MAX    IN   ACTION. 


13o 


pace  with  other  professions— that  medical  science  has  lagged 
behind  all  the  other  sciences  of  equal  importance  to  mankind— 
simply  because  it  would- not  accept  truth  when  it  has  been  asso- 
ciated with  the  error  and  the  pretension  that  is  so  apt  to  accon:- 
pany  the  advent  of  truth  in  every  field.  The  science  of  medicine 
embraces,  or  should  embrace,  all  the  facts  of  medicine,  and 
when  he  or  his  friends  proudly  decline  to  entertain  a  fact  be- 
cause it  was  discovered  by  an  irregular  empiric,  they  are  not 
only  false  to  science,  but  false  to  humanity. 

Dr.  Jones  can  not  help  but  notice  a  growing  tendency  in  liie 
public  mind  to  break  away  from  the  regular  practice,  and   m 
embrace  some   of  the   numberless  forms  of   irregular   practice. 
He  notices  this  with  pain,  and  so  (lt>  J,  because  T  know  tlial    if 
the  regular  profession  were  to  pursue  a  different  policy,  the  fact 
would  be  otherwise.     He   must  notice   with  peculiar  jKiiii   that 
this  defc'ction  is  not  confined  to  the  ignorant  and   the  supersti- 
tious, and  that,  more  and  more,  it  takes  from  him  the  intelligent 
and  the  learned.      Why  will  he  be  so  stupid  as  not  to  see  iliat 
this  waning  of  respect  for  the  regular  practice  is  owing  to  the 
bigotry  and  intolerance  of  the  regular  practitioners?  He  assumes 
to  be  the  sole  possessor   of  the   medical   wisdom  of  the  world. 
Every  man  who  does   not  practice  in  his  way,  though  he  may 
have  been  a  graduate  of  a  regular  medical  college,  he  assumes 
the  privilege  of  condemning  as  a  quack;  and  he  denies  to  him 
not  only  professional   but  social  jwsition.     He   places  all   mat- 
ters of   social   and   professional    etiquette    before    the    simplest 
humanities,  and  intends  by  his  policy  to  coerce  the  public  into 
his  support.     The  rules  of  his  medical  associations  are  intended 
to  hold  their  members  to  the  regular  field,  to  compel  them  to 
fight  all  irregular  jiractitioners  out  of  the  field,  and  to  force  the 
public  Into  the  exclusive  support  of  the  regular  practice.     It  is 


4 


136 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


MAN   IN  ACTION. 


137 


a  thorough  despotism,  and  intended  to  be  so ;  and  is  so  dis- 
cordant with  the  free  spirit  of  the  time  that  the  public  rebel,  and 
many  are  driven  into  extremes  of  opposition. 

Does  he  ask  me  if  I  am  a  medical  "  Eclectic  ?"  No ;  I  am 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  a  catholic,  with  every  prejudice, 
predilection,  and  sympathy  of  my  mind  clinging  to  the  regular 
practice.  I  have  a  contempt  which  I  can  not  utter  for  all  these 
^'  completed  systems  "  of  irregular  practice,  which  are  built  upon 
some  newly  discovered  or  newly  developed  fact  in  medicine.  I 
have  only  contempt  for  the  broad  claims  of  quackery  in  every 
field.  AVhen  a  man  tells  me  that  the  regular  practice  is  murder, 
and  that  drugs  are  never  administered  in  allopathic  doses  with 
benefit,  I  know  simply  that  he  is  a  fool.  And  when  an  adherent 
of  the  allopathic  school  tells  me  that  such  and  such  things  can 
not  be,  in  the  range  of  irregular  practice,  which  I  know^  have 
been  and  are,  I  know  he  is  a  fool. 

I  write  in  my  present  strain  to  him,  because  I  believe  that 
through  what  is  called  the  regular  practice  the  future  substantial 
advances  of  medicine  are  to  be  made.  Medical  science  can  only 
go  about  as  fast  as  the  regular  profession  permits  it  to  go.  It  is 
too  well  organized,  it  has  too  many  schools,  it  has  too  much 
power,  to  permit  any  outside  organization  to  get  the  lead,  and 
to  become  the  standard  authority  of  the  world.  My  doctrine  is 
that  the  regular  profession  should  become  the  solvent  of  all  the 
systems,  and  not  the  uniform  and  bitter  opponent  of  everything 
that  claims  to  be  a  system.  They  should  make  their  system  one 
with  universal  science,  one  with  humanity,  and  not  build  a  wall 
around  it.  AVhen  a  man  gets  so  bigoted  that  he  can  say  that' 
a  thing  can  not  be  true  because  it  is  not  according  to  his  system, 
he  has  become  too   narrow  for  the  intelligent  practice  of  any 


1 


•rofession. 


I  am  aware  that  I  am  quite  likely  to  be  misunderstood  and 
misconstrued  by   Dr.    Jones,   and  by  those  of  his  professional 
brethren  who  may  read  this  paper.     They  have  been  so  much  in 
the  habit  of  calling  all  irregular  practitioners  quacks  and  char- 
latans and  mountebanks— of  looking  upon  them  all  as  either 
ignorant  or  knavish,  or  both  together,  that  they  will   be  quite 
apt  to  charge  me  with  favoring  charlatanry  and  quackery.     I 
ask  them  to  associate  with  no  knave  or  ignorant  pretender.'    No 
man  can  more  heartily  despise  a  pretender  in  medicine  than  I 
do,  either  in  or  out  of  the  regular  profession,  and  I  am  sure  that 
the  question  is  yet  to  be  decided  as  to  which  side  holds  the  pre- 
ponderance  of  ignorance  and  pretension.     As  between  licensed 
and  unlicensed  ignorance  and  pretension,  I  have  no  choice.     I 
simply  ask  the  profession  to  admit  the  fact  that  there  are  just  as 
good,  true,  scientific,  honorable,  and  able  men  outside  of  the 
regular  profession  as  there  are  in  it ;  that  all  improvements  in 
medicine  must  come  through  empiricism ;  that  medical  science 
is  one  in  its  interests,  aims,  and  ends,  and  that  the  people  have 
a  right  to  demand  that  the  profession  which  has  its  most  pre- 
cious interests  in  charge  shall  not  place  before  those  interests  its 
own  partisan  purposes  and  prejudices.^ 

The  Jouknalist.— The  public  journal,  at  once  the  echo  and 
the  prompter  of  the  public  mind,  is  constantly  enlarging  its 
power  and  widening  its  scope.  As  a  means  of  swaying  the 
minds  of  men,  which  is  the  essence  of  power— as  an  instrument 
for  elevating  society,  which  is  the  object  of  goodness— in  the 
directness,  strength,  and  persistence  of  its  influence,  it  has  no 
equal  among  all  the  agencies  of  human  utterance.  Not  only  is 
it  becoming  the  common  people's  encyclopedia  —  its  school, 
lyceum,  and  college— but  the  educated  classes  are  looking  to  it 
more  and  more  as  their  oracle.^ 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


2  Mathews. 


138 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


139 


L 

I- 

s 


As  periodical   literature  i.s  that  which    reaches    tha  greatest 
number  of  minds,  its  worth  is  exactly  proportionate  to  the  num- 
ber of  able  and  well-instructed  men  who  contribute  to  produce 
it.     Journalism,  which  reaches  the  million,  is  the  very  last  kind 
of  literarv  production  that  should  be  abandoned  to  feeble,  shal- 
low tliinkers  and  vulgar  writers,  who  lack  capacity  for  more 
enduring  work.     It  should  be  the  work  of  minds  of  the  largest 
size  and'of  -  the  divinest  mettle."     Who  can  estimate  the  good 
to  the  communitv  when  the  leading  thinkers,  instead  of  lectur- 
ing a  dozen  times  a  year  to  audiences  of  five  hundred,  or  pub- 
liling  books  to  be  read  by  a   few  thousands,  pour  out  their 
treasu^'res  through  the  daily  or  weekly  press  to  a  hundred  thou- 
sand readers?     Why  should  the   feeblest  men   control  the  tre- 
mendous  power  of  the   press?      Why  should  the   elephant  be 
harnessed  to  the  go-cart  and  the  mouse  to  the  load  of  hay?  ^ 

The  dailv  paper  has  n.nv  become  a  visitor  in  every  family  of 
oVdinarv  intelligence.      It  lias  become  the  daily  food  of  chiMron 
an.lyoai:>    all   uv.r   our  muntn,  and   it  (mght  never  to   hold  a 
record  which  would  natiirally  lpav(>  an  iinNvhoh'.-.onie  effect  upon 
their  minds.      If  crime   is  recorded,  it  should   be  recorded  as 
crime,  and  with  a  conscieniiou.-,  exclusion  of  all  details  that  the 
editor  would  exclude  were  he  called  upon  to  tell  the  storv  to  his 
boy  upon   his   kuee,  or  to  his  grown-up  daughter  sitting  at  his 
side.     The  way  in  which  nastiness  and  beastliness  are  advertised 
in  criminal  reports  is  abominable.     It  is  not  necessary ;  it  is  not 
on  any  account  desirable.     A  thousand  things  of  greater  moment 
and  of  sweeter  import  pass  unnoticed   by  the   press  every  day. 
The  apology  that  the  press  must  be  exact,  impartial,  iliithful, 
literal,  etc.,  is  a  shabby  one.     A  press  is  never  impartial,  when, 
\)y  the  predominance  it  gives  to  crime  in  its  reports,  it  conveys 
the  impression  that  crime  is  the  most  important  thing  to  be 


reported,  when,  in  truth,  it  is  the  least  important.  Its  records 
do  not  hinder  crime,  do  not  nourish  virtue,  do  not  advance  intel- 
ligence, do  not  purify  youth,  do  not  build  up  the  best  interests 
of  society;  and  the  absorption  of  the  columns  of  the  public 
press  by  them  is  a  stupendous  moral  nuisance  that  ought  to 
be  abated. 

We  do  not  expect  the  press  to  be  very  much  in  advance  of 
the  people,  either  in  morality  or  intelligence.  It  is  quite  as 
much  the  outgrowth  as  the  leader  of  our  civilization,  but  it 
ought  to  be  an  emanation  from  the  best  American  spirit  and 
culture,  and  not  the  worst.  We  shall  have,  probably,  so  long 
as  crime  exists,  professional  scavengers  w]i«.  f  iIJdw  in  it-  wav  to 
glean  and  gorge  its  uncleanness.  We  have  such  now,  and  a 
beastly  brood  wdio  glean  after  them  even;  Imii  \\\\\  a  ])ress, 
claiming  to  be  respectable,  should  deem  it  its  duty  to  assi-t  in 
their  dirty  work,  surpasses  our  comprelicii.-ioii.  \\\  repeat,  it  is 
not  necessary ;  it  is  not  on  any  account  desirable.^ 

The  Preacher. — That  a  man  stand  and  speak  of  s])iritual 
things  to  men  !  It  is  l)eautiful — even  in  its  great  obscuration 
and  decadence,  it  is  among  tlie  beautifulest,  most  touching 
objects  one  sees  on  the  earth.  This  speaking  Man  ha-,  indeed, 
in  these  times,  wandered  terribly  from  the  point  :  i;as  alas,  as  it 
were,  totally  lost  sight  of  the  point;  yet,  at  bottom,  whom  have 
we  to  compare  with  liim?  Of  all  ])ubli('  functionaries  bo-arded 
ana  lodged  on  the  industry  of  Modern  Europe,  is  there  one 
worthier  of  the  board  he  has  ?  A  uian  even  professing,  and,  ii.  \  er 
so  languidly,  making  still  some  endeavor,  to  save  the  souls  of 
men  :  contrast  him  with  a  man  professing  to  do  little  but  shoot 
the  partridges  of  men !  I  wish  he  could  find  the  point  again, 
this  Speaking  One,  and  stick  to  it  with  tenacity — with  deadly 
energy,  for  there  is  neec]  of  him  yet !     The  Speaking  Function — 


1  Ibid. 


1  Dr.  Hollaiid. 


140 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


141 


I 

i 

i 


this  of  Tn.th  connng  to  us  with  a  hv.ug  vo.ce   na>,  n   a     v  n 
shape,  and  as  a  concrete  practical  exen^plar;  th.s,  ..th  all  our 
Writing  ana  Printing  Functions,  has  a  perennml  place      Could 
he  but  find  the  point  again-take  the  old  spectacles  oft  h.s  nose 
and,  looking  «p,  discover,  almost  in  contact  w.th  hun,  .hat  the 
■real  Sataaas  and  soul-devouring,  .orld-devour.ng  Bcvdno.   . 

The  a..o  in  which  we  live  demands  not  only  an  enlightened  but 
an  earnest  ministry,  for  it  is  an  age  of  earnestness  and  excite- 
ment     Alen  feel  and  think  at  present  with   more  energy  than 
formerlv.     There  is  more  of  interest  and  fervor.     We  learn  now 
from  experience  .hat  might  have  been  inferred  from  the  pur- 
poses of  our  Creator-that  civilization  and  refinement  are  not  as 
has  been  sometimes  thought,  inconsistent  with  sens.bd.ty  ;  that 
the  intellect  mav  grow  without  exhausting  or  overshadow.ng  the 
lu-u-i      The  human  n.ind  was  never  more  in  earnest  than  at  the 
present  moment.      Th.  pnliti.al  revolutions,  which  form  such 
broad  features  and  distinctions  of  our  age,  have  .,,run,  in.u  a 
new  and  deep  working  in   .he   hnu.an   ~.ul.      Mn   have  caught 
.limpses.  however  indistinct,  -f  the  .-orth,  di.ni.y,  ,„h,.  and 
:,.„«  i.-.terests  of  th.ir  natn.v  .  and  a  thirst  for  untried  good  a.td 
hupatience  ..flong-endurcl  wrongs  have  Wrokett  out  wddly   hke 
Uu.   Ihv,  of  Klna,  and  .hak,  n   and  convulsed  the  earth.      It  ,s 
intpos.4ble  not  to  di^eer.t  thi-  in,Tea.ed  ferv„r  „f  ,nin,l  in  every 
departntent   „f   life.     A    new   spirit  o(  impn.venteu,   i^  abroad. 
The  i,na.lnatinn  -an  no  l.ng-r  be  eontin.d   to   the  u.-,iU,s.ttoiis 
of  past  a,^es,  but    i-   kindling  the   passions  by  vagtte   but   noble 
,U.L  of  ble..ing.~  tKVW  y.t  attained.     AInltitndes.  unwtlhng  to 
wait  the  slow  pace  of  th.,!  great  innovator,  Tinn  .  are  taking  the 
v,-.rk  of  ref  ,.■,.,.  into  tlteir  own  bands.     Accordingly,  the  rever- 
ence for  anti.nitv  an,l  for  a.e-hallowed  establishn.ents,  and  the 
passion   for  -hange  and  amelioration,  are   now  arrayed  against 

1  Carlvle. 


:  n 


each  other  in  open  hostility,  and  all  great  questions  afiecting 
human  happiness  are  debated  Avith  the  eagerness  of  party.  .  .  . 
Now,  religion  ought  to  be  dispensed  in  accommcdntion  to  this 
spirit  and  character  of  our  age.  Men  desire  excitement,  and 
reli"-ion  must  be  communicated  in  a  more  exciting  form.  It 
must  be  seen  not  only  to  correspond  and  to  be  adapted  to  the 
intellect,  but  to  furnish  nutriment  and  appeals  to  the  highest  and 
profoundest  sentiments  of  our  nature.  It  must  not  be  exhibited 
in  the  dry,  pedantic  divisions  of  the  scholastic  theology ;  nor 
must  it  be  set  forth  and  tricked  out  in  the  light  drapery  of  an 
artificial  rhetoric,  in  prettinesses  of  ^tvlr.  in  measured  sentences 
with  an  insipid  iioridness,  and  in  the  form  of  ek'gantly  feeble 
essays.  No;  it  must  come  from  the  soul  in  tlie  language  of 
earnest  conviction  and  strong  feeling.  ^len  will  not  now  be 
trifled  \vitl>.  They  listen  impatiently  to  great  subjects  treated  with 
apathy.  They  want  a  religion  which  will  take  a  strong  hold  upon 
them;  and  no  system,  I  am  sure,  can  now  maintain  its  ground^ 
which  v/ants  the  pow^-r  of  nwakcuiuii'  real  and  d.cp   interest  in 

the  souk^ 

Knowlcdire  is  the  mean-,  power  the  end.  The  i'ornier,  when 
accumulated,  as  it  often  is,  with  no  strong  action  of  the  intellect, 
no  vividne.->  of  eonei})tiou,  no  depth  of  conviction,  no  force  of 
feelin<'\  is  of  little  or  no  worth  to  the  preacliOr.  I""  comes  Irom 
him  as  a  faint  echo,  v.  ith  notliing  of  that  mysterious  energ}^ 
v.hieh  stronii:  conviction  throws  into  style  and  ntl(  I'ar.ce.  His 
breath,  which  should  kindle,  chills  his  hearers,  and  the  iiohlcr 
the  truth  with  which  lie  i,-  charged  the  less  he  succeeds  in  carry- 
ino- it  far  into  men's  sonJs.  AVe  want  more  tlian  knov.kdge. 
We  want  force  of  thought,  feeling  and  ]mr]K)-e.  V.'ha.t  j^rolits 
it  to  arm  the  pupil  with  weapons  of  heavddy  tcnip.er.  unless  hi^ 
hands  be  nerved  to  wield  them  with  vigor  and  .success?     The 

1  Cliauuing. 


;,i 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


14;] 


u-1 


MAN    AND    ins    RELATIONS. 


41 


^vonl  c,f  Cnul  i-  in,1.r<l  "  .,nrk  au,!  powerful,  an.l  sl,arpcr  tluan 
anv  two-c.cl^a.,l   sword  f   but   when  oon.mitt.a   ...   hun    «lu,  has 

,.,:Uh,,ln.i;uc.rgy,aa,..-n„ta„a..n    ..    ,.,„.„■.„..!,..  „nn,l. 

,„.....      h    i-    d,.    .-c.t,.-    a,„l    ,ra,Hl    n-uh    in    w!,,.,,    al!    Ins 
studies,  n.aUa.i.n^  ana  ,,n,vw.  .iu,uld  U.W.  a,..!  w.thout  winch 

U.  office  IH -ai.nnanaa-! ■.      Ana   vet   h„w   schh-n,    ,s 

i;a;--^.c.lv  ana  canu.tlM-r-'l  -<''•■•■''■''•'■  'l''''''*""''''V'''" 
thesacrclollicc:     llow  scia„n,  do  we  nu..,  i,  !     ll.,w  nUcn  aoes 

■     1         .f  n  ,.lnl,r~  •irn.w-  -h'.i  a<jain-!  ;i  1"rtre=s  ot 

;,,.,,,,„,,       ll,„v„rtcn    aoc.  it  ^ecn,  a  n.ock    li^h.  !       Wca.,    n„t 

see  the  earnestness  „f  nal  ua.-lare;  -.i'  nn-n  l-cnt  on   the  a< n.- 

.K.,„.,,..„t  of  a  .n  at  ^u.mI.  Wc  want  pow.rlnl  M,in-ters-not 
graceful  deela;nua-,n..t  el..,ant  e.-ayl.t.,  hn,  una,  ii.tcd  to  act 
^„  ,-„,,,.  tn  nuikcllicni-civc^./W'in-ocicty,' 

,.,,,  ,,.„in..   i-  the  expression  of  the  n.omi  ».ntin,cnl   ,n  appl- 
,..„.,„   ,„    ,1,,  auties  of  life.      In   how   nn.ny   chnn-hes,  by  how 
„,,„v    „..l.hct^,  toll    n,o,   ;~    ,nan    nnnlc    .cnMhlc    that    ho    ,s   an 
;,,,:„';,.■  -.a,!:    tlau   ih.   ca>ah   and   heaven^  are  pa-MU.'   ,nto   lus 
„;■,;.,■    ,l.a.    h..    i-annkin,    forever  thoonl   of  tloav      Where 
„„^^.   ,,,,,„,,   ,,,,    ,.„r-aa-i,.n.  .ha,    hy    it^   v.aw    nu-loay    in.para- 
di.es    n.v    laart,   un,l    -o    aiV.rn.s    its    own     origin     u,     heav,.n  . 
^Vi,o,v   a  all    1   h.ar  wo^a^  .n,-h   a-   in   eklcr  ages  dr-.v   una,  ... 
l,,v..  VI   -..-A   faiow-fa.hcr  ana   n.other,  hou-e  and   la,.a,  wde 
,,',    .,,,n,l-     Wluav    -hall    1    hear   the-c   an^„-.    law-  of  moral 

bcin i..-ononn.-c,i  a-   ...  fdl    n.y   .'ar,  and    I    l.d   .  .nioWca   hy 

the  ,ar..r  .a-  ,nv  n.tcr.uo-.  ...aion  ana  pa<si,.,r.'  The  t.-t  of  .h,. 
^,.,,^,  ,,:,,,,,  ,,,,;,i„U,  -In.nl.l  1..-  i.-  P"->ver  t,.  char.n  ami  .-...nnannl 
,,,_,.„,  ,_,1,..  law- of  natnr,-.-....t.'.a, he  activity  ..f.ln.han.U- 
.„  eo.:..n,a,aain..  .har  we  tla.l  plea-.n-e  a.nl  ho.n.r  ,u  ..heyn,,. 
The  faith  shouia  1.1.  n.l   with   th..   liJ.t  .-f  ri-in,-  ana  ot  M-tt.n^^ 


suns,  with  tlic  flying  cloud,  tlie  singing  bird,  and  the  Imatli  <»i' 
flowers.  But  now  ihc  prir^t's  vSab])at]i  has  lost  the  s])h  n<h)r  ot" 
nature;  it  is  unlovel\' ;  we  ai'e  oh\d  when  it  is  done;  we  ran 
make,  \vc  (h>  make,  even  sitting  in  our  pews,  a  far  better,  holier, 
sweeter,  for  ourselves. 

Whenever  the   j^ulpit   is   usurped   l)y  a   formalist,  tin  n   i>  the 
Avorshiper  defrauded   and   discon«olat(\     AVe   shrink    as   soon   a< 
the  pravcrs  begin,  which  do  not  uplii't,  but   smite  and  dlVcnd  u-. 
AVe  arr  lain  to  wrap  our  eloaks  about  us,  and  secure,  as  best  wi' 
can,  a  solitude  that  hears   not.      I   once  heard   a   preacher  who 
sorely  tonpted  me  to  say  I  would  go  to  church  no  moi-e.      Men 
go,  thought   T,   where   they  are   wont   to   go,  else   had    no   soul 
entered  the  temph'  in  the  afternoon.      A  snow-storm  was  i'alling 
around  us.     The  snow-^torm  wa<  real,  the  preacher  mert-ly  spec- 
tral, and  the  eve  felt  the  sad  contrast  in   looking  at   him,  and 
then  out  of  the  window  behind  him,  into  the  beautiful  meteor  of 
the  snow.     lie   had   lived   in  vain.     lie  had   no  one  word  inti- 
mating that  he  had  laughed  or  wej)!,  was  married   (»r   in   love, 
had  been  commended,  or  cheated,  or  chagrined.      11' he  h:u]  ever 
lived  and  acted,  we  were   none  the  wiser  for  it.     The   ( :!].!tal 
secret  of  his  profe.-sion — namely,  to  convert   Hie  int(»  trull: — he 
had  not  learned.     Xot  one  iaet  in  all   hi-  ex]ier;ence   had   he  yet 
imported  iiito  his  doctrine.     This  man  liad  ploAvc d,  ;uid  planted, 
and  talked,  and   boui:ht,  ami   sold  ;  hv  had   read  book.-  ;   he  had 
eaten  and  drunker-  :  his  lu  ad  aches;  his  heart  tlirol>s;   he  -miles 
andsnlTers;  yet  wns  there  not  a  surmi.-(>,  a  hint,  in  all   the  dis- 
course that  he  had  ever  lived  at   all?     Not  a  line  did   he  draw 
out  of  real  hi.-torv.     The  true  i)reaeher  can   be  known   ])y  thi-^, 
that  he  deals  out  to  the  pco[)le  his  life — life   pas.^ed  throULiii   the 
fire  of  thought.     I>ut  of  the  bad  preacher,  it  coidd  not   be  told 
from  his  sermon  what   aire  of  the  world   he  fell   in;    whether  he 


1  Ibid. 


lii 


MAN    AND    Ills    RELATIONS, 


MAN    IX   ACTION. 


145 


had  a  father  or  a  chikl ;  whether  he  was  a  freeholder  or  a  pau- 
per; whether  he  was  a  eitizeii  or  a  countryman,  or  any  other 
fact' of  his  biu-raphy.  It  seemed  strange  thr.t  the  people  shouM 
come  to  churcli.  It  seemed  as  if  their  houses  were  very  unen- 
tertaining,  that  they  shouM  prefer  this  thoughtless  clamor.  It 
shows  that  there  is  a  commanding  attraction  in  the  moral  senti- 
ment, that  can  lend  a  faint  tint  of  light  to  dullness  and  ignorance, 
coming  in  its  name  and  place.  The  good  hearer  is  sure  he  has 
been  touched  sometimes;  is  sure  there  is  somewhat  to  be 
reached,  and  some  word  that  can  reach  it.  When  he  listens 
to  these  vain  words  he  comforts  himself  by  their  relation  to 
his  remembrance  of  better  hours,  and  so  they  clatter  and  echo 

unchallenged.      .      .     . 

Lc  t  mc  admonish  you,  first  of  all,  to  go  alone,  to  refuse  the  good 
models,  even  those  which  are  sacred  in  the  imagination  of  men, 
and  dare  to  love  God  without  mediator  or  veil.  Friends  enough 
you  shall  iliul  v>ho  will  hold  up  to  your  emulation  AVesleys  and 
bberlins,  Saints  and  Prophets.  Thank  God  for  these  good  men, 
but  sav,  "  I  also  am  a  man."  Imitation  can  not  go  above  its 
model.  The  imitator  dooms  himself  to  hopeless  mediocrity. 
The  inventor  did  it  because  it  was  natural  to  him,  and  so  in  him 
it  has  a  charm.  In  the  imitator,  something  else  is  natural,  and 
he  bereaves  himself  of  his  own  beauty,  to  come  short  of  :iiH>t]i.  r 

man's. 

V-urself  a  new-born  bard  -i'  th.'  11-  1>  <  .l.ost,  cast  h.  hind 
you  all  conformity,  and  aeciuaint  men  at  first  hand  with  Deity. 
Look  to  it  first  an;l  only,  that  fa^hinn.  cu.-toiii,  authority, 
pleasure,  and  money  are  nothing  to  you— are  n-  i  bandages  over 
VMiir  eyes,  that  you  enii  not  see-— hut  live  with  ihr  privilege  of 
the  immeasurable  miiuh  Not  too  anxion^  to  vi-it  i.-Hodienllv 
all  families  and  each    family  in   your  parish  connection,  when 


yon  meet  one  of  these  men  or  women  be  to  them  a  divine  irin  • 
be  to  them  thought  and   virtue:  let  their  timid  aspirations  find' 
m  you  a  friend;  let  their  tramph.l  instincts  be  genial] v  t.nip-ed 
out  in  your  atmosphere ;  let  their  douI,t.   know  tliat  Vou    have 
doubted,  and   their  wonder  fvvl   that   you   have  wondered.     By 
trusting  your  own  heart,  you  sliall  gain  more  eoniid.uee  in  other 
men.     For  all   our  penny-wisdom,^  f  u-   all   our   soul-destrovinc 
slavery  to  habit,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  all   men   have  \iC 
^'me  thoughts;  that  all  men  value   the  few  real   hours  of  life- 
tiny  love  to  be  heard  ;  they  love  to  be  caught  up  into  the  vision' 
^'^   l)nueiples.      AVe    mark    with    light    in    the   menmrv    tlu^    f.w 
luterviews  we  have  luul,  in   the  dreary  years  of  routine  and   of 
sm,  with  souls  that  made  our  souls  wiser;  that  spoke  what    we 
thought;   that  told  us  what   we  knew;  that  gave  us  leave  to   be 
^vhat  we  inly  were.     Discharge  to   men   the  ])riest]v  o(li<.e,  and 
present  or  absent,  you  shall  be  followed  with  their  love  as  l)v  an' 


angel. 


And,  to  this  end,  let  us  not  aim  at  common  degrees  of  uu^rit. 
Can  we  not  leave  to  such  as  love  it  the  virtue  that  glitter,  inr 
the  commendation  of  society,  and  ourselves  pierce  the  deep  soli- 
tudes of  absolute  abilitv  and  worth  - 

«.  •  •  •  • 

1.1  .^ueli  hijrl,  communion,  U  us  study  the  pran.!  strokes  of 
reetitu,le-a  [...Id  benevolence,  an  independence  of  f,,\.nds,  so 
that  not  th,.  unjust  wishes  of  those  who  love  us  shall  imi.air  our 
freedom,  but  we  shall  resist,  for  truth's  sake,  the  freest  flow  of 
kindness,  and  appeal  to  symjiathies  far  in  advance  ;  an,l,  what  is 
the  highest  form  in  wliich  we  know  this  beautiful  element  a 
oortain  solidity  of  merit,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  opinion, 
and  which  is  so  essentially  and  n>anifestlv  virtue  that  it  i.  taken' 
for  granted  that  the  right,  the  brave,  the  generous  step  will  be 
taken  by  it,  and  nobody  thinks  of  commending  it.     You  would 


I 


146 


MA 


N    AND   UIS   RELATIONS. 


cniplimcnt  a  coxcomb  .loing  a  good  act,  hut  you  would  ..ul 
prni-.'  ;.n   angel.     The   silence   that  accepts  merit  as  the  most 

„.,',„,.,i  ,1,1,,.,.";:,  tl,..  n-..rM,  i-  :i-  iilgli'-.-l    npi-lausc.      Such  .souls, 
,,U,„  ,i,..v  a'l-pca.-,  are  the  Imper'.!   a...\   ..f  Viri,,,..  the  p..- 
petual  i-escv,  ,  ,!,.■  .il^  tai,,.-.  ..f  UTiun..     One  needs  not  pnuse 
,i^^-,,  ,,„„,mv- tl.,v   a.v   ih.'  lH..rt   lunl   >..i,l  ofnatnr..     U,  .Hy 
f,.i,.n,l<,  there  are  re...urc.  -  ii.  n-..n  uinri,   u.   I,.vc  not   .Iniunl 
There  an.  fua,  uIh.  n-.   refn-h,.l  ...  Inari.e.-   a   tlnvai  ;    nieu   to 
whuia   a   eri-i-   "hi--!'    intiiui.lat,-   an.l   paralyzes  ll..'   mai.-rity— 
a.  n.ati.i;,,^-  not  th.'  fa.ailli.^  ..I'  pruJenee  and  thrift,  hut  eoinpre- 
h.i,-;on,  ;,aia..vaM.iu-.  tli-  na-liness  of  sacrifiee-eome.  ;.M'aee- 
ful  ntid  l-h.vd  a-  a  l..a>l..      Napoleon  sii.l  of  Massena,  that  he 
xva-  MM  l,iin-Mf  until  tl..^  Imtth-  he-an  to  jro  a-ain-t    him  ;   then, 
v,!„n    t!..'   dr:v\    l.egan   to    fall    in    rank-   aronn.l    liini.  awol<e   his 
j„,u-,,--  ..f  -onihination.an.l   lu-   put   on   t,-n-or  and   virtory  as  a 
rube.      So  it  is  in    rn-,--,]   .■,■!-.-.  i..    nnuvariahh'   .n.lnranee,  and 
;„   .,;,„-   whirl,   put   sympathy  out  of  .pie.tion,  that   the  angel   is 
shown.      i!nt  these  a,v  hei-ht-  that   u.  .•an  .^enree  remeniher  and 
l,„,p   „|,  ;o  without  eotilrilion  and  .-hame.     Let   us  thaidc  (iod 

tliat  -11. -h  thinijjs  exist. 

And  now  let  u-  d..  what   nvo  <an   to  rekindle  the  smoldering, 
„ioh-4Uvitehed  firo   o„    th.   altar.      The  evil,   of  the  .'hun-h   that 
j„?w  i-  aiv  niatdfe.:.     'Vh.  M>'estion  rettua,-,  What  -hall  we  do? 
T  ,.onf.--.  all  atu-nipt-  to  projeel  and  ,>tahli-h  a  Cultu.  with  new 
rite-  and   lorn.-,  -eon,   to  me  vain.      Faith    mak.s  u-,  an,l  not  we 
it,  and  faith   make-  it-   own   fuae.s.      .Ml   attempt- to  eontrive  a 
system  ar.-  a-  .old  a-  the  new  wor-hip   introduce  ,1  l.y  the  iM-ench 
ti.  the  goddess  of  IJras.m— to-day,  pasteboard   and   fdigree,  and 
..ndin-"ti-monow    in    mad.ies^    and    murder,      llath.r    let    the 
l„-.ath  of  new  life  be  Invath.d  hy  yon  through  the  fovrn^  already 
existing.     For,  if  oiiee  you  are  alive,  you  shall  find  they  shall 


f^ 


MAX    IN   ACTIOX. 


M 


becomo   plastic    and   new.     The    remedy  to  their   a.l.rnniv  i. 

first,  soul,  and  second,  soul,  and  cverniore,  ^oul 

I  look  ihr  the  hour  when  that  supreme  IJ.autv,  whioh  ravi-l,,  ,1 

the  souls  of  those  Eastern  men,  and  ehieflv  of  flmse   ll,.l„vw- 
and  through  their  lips  spoke  oracles  to  all   time,  shall  sp.,,k    In' 
the    West   also.      The    Il.breu-   and    Greek    s,.ript„res   eontain 
iinmortal   sentences,  that    have   l,een    l,read  of  life   ,o  millio,,- 
But   they  have   no   epieal    integrity;   are   fragmentarv ;   are  not 
shown    ,n   their    order    to    the    intellect.     I   look    for   the    new 
Teacher,  that  shall  f,l!ow  so  far  those  shining  laws,  that  he  shall 
see  then,   eon.e  I'ull   eirele;  shall    see   their   rounding   eomplete 
grace;  .|,all  see  the  world  to  be  the  .nirr,>r  of  tin.  so,d  •  shall  see- 
the  identity  of  the  law  of  gravitation  with  jiuritv  of  keart  •  -irHl 
shall  show  that  the  Ought,  that  Duty,  is  one  thing  with  .Science 
with  lleauty,  and  with  Jov.'  ' 

The  TE.u-HEit.-Parents  ean  not  do  the  whole  work  of  e.lu- 
catioii.     Their  daily  occupation,  the  neeessitv  of  labors  f  ,r  ,h,. 
su,,port  of  their  families,  household  cares,  the  dutv  of  watehin.r 
over  the   health    of  tlieir   children,   and   other  so'eial    relations^ 
render  it  almost  impo-ssible  for  parents  to  .puilifv  themselves  Ihr 
.nuch  of  the  teaching  whieh  the  young  recpiire,  and  often  ,lenv 
them  tune  and  opportunity  for  giving  instrnetion  to  whieh   tlwv 
are  competent.     Hence  the  need  of  a  class  of  persons  who  shall 
devote  themselves  exclusively  t.,  the  work  of  education.     In  all 
societies,  ancient  and  modern,  this  want  has  been   felt,  the  ],ro- 
fession  of  teachers  has  been  known;  and  to  secure  the  best  helps 
of  this   kin.l   to  cliildren   is  one  of  the  first  <luties   of  parents 
for   on    these    the    progress    of  tlieir    .■hildren    v<.ry  mueh    d,-' 
pends.     .     .     .     There  is  no  offiee  higher  than  that  "of  a  teacher 
of  y.mth,  f  ,r  there  is  nothing  on  earth  so  precions  as  the  mind 
soul,  character  of  the  child.     Xo  office  should  be  regarded  with' 

^  Emerson, 


■•i 


■■W    t 


148 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


greater  respeet.     The  ilrst  inlnd.  iu  the  community  BhoiiLI  ho 
encouraged  to  assume  it.     .     .     • 

W^.   k„nu  U..I    i.oNV  society  can  be  aided   more  ll.an  bv  the 

notanvclas-  uhi.l,  v.,..!a  r..uu-\\,u'r  -  murh  to  the  st.l.ilin-  of 
the  -t-u-  ap.a  u,  .l.iiK-ti.'  hai.piuess.  Mieh  r.-  u'e  re.peet  tiie 
,Hlni-r>-v  ofihe  Gospel,  nv  l...li.ve  ,1ku  ii  „„.-l  yield  in  i.np..,t- 
auec  to' the  office  of  training  th..  youn-.  In  muh,  the  ministry 
„.uv  „eeom|,Ii.he^  little  lor  wnnt  of  that  early  intelleetl.al  and 
moral  di-ripline  hy  Nvhieh  alon.^  a  o,„nniunity  can  he  i>r.pared 
to  distin-ui-h  truth  from  fal.ele-od.  to  .ompnlumd  the  instruc- 
tion^ of  the  pulpit,  to  Tvroive  hid.-r  and  l.r<.ader  view,  of 
duty,  and    to   apply   general   principle,   to   tho   diver.itied  details 

W,.  l,av..  -poken  of  the  office  of  thr  oducation  .d' liuman  heings 
n«   the    uol.lot    on    earth,   and    have   spoken   dcliherately.      It    is 
more  iiup.u-tant  than  tlra  of  ,ho  ^tate^man.     The  statesman  may 
BK    f.nr...   round   our  pn.p.rty   an.l   dwollin- ;  hut   how   mn.eh 
,„,,re   arewr    iudeht.d    to    l,iui  who   rail-    tiuah    tin-   j^.w^r-   and 
affections   of  tho-e    f.r   wleun    o„r   property    i-   earned    and    our 
dwellings  arc  reared,  and  who    reader-   our  ehildren   objects  of 
increasing   love    and    respect  V     We   go    further:    We   nu.intain 
that  hi-her  ahility  i..  required  f.r  tlie  office  of  an  edncat(n-  of  the 
young  than  f.r  that  of  a  -tatrMnan.     The  higli.-t  ability  i-  that 
whhh  penetrates  furlluM  iiif  human   nature;  eompreheud-  the 
mind   in  all   it^   .apa.-itie- :   tra.v,  out  the   la«>of  thought  and 
moral  action  ;   understand-  th,.   p.-rfectlon  of  human   nature  and 
how  it    mav  he   appr..ael.,d;   un.ler-taml-   the   -prin-s,   motives, 
l,,,,,lieations   by    which   the    child    is   to  be    round   to   the   most 
vigorou.-  and  harmonioir-  action  ..f  all  its  faeidties;   tn.dcrstands 
its'"  perils,  and  knows  how  t..  blen.l   an.l   modify  the  intiueuccs 


^ 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


149 


which  outward  circumstauces  exert  on  the  youtliful  miiuL  The 
speculations  of  statesmen  are  slinllnw  compared  with  th.se.  It 
is  the  chief  function  of  the  statesman  to  watch  over  th.  outward 
interests  of  a  peopk';  that  of  th.  uhicator  to  qnirken  it.,  .nul. 
The  statesman  must  study  and  nuuiaoe  the  passions  and  preju- 
dices of  the  comnumity  ;  the  educator  must  studv  the  e.s<ential, 
the  deepest,  the  loftiest  ])rinciples  of  human  natui^^  Th(>  states- 
man works  with  coarse  instruments  for  coarse  ends;  the  edu- 
cator is  to  work  by  the  most  refined  infhienccs  on  tliat  delicate 
ethereal  essence,  the  immortal  soul. 

The  mark  of  a  good  teacher  is  not  only  that  he  produces  great 
effort  in   his   pupils,  hut   that   he  di.^misscs  them  from  his  care, 
conscious  of  having  only  laid  the  i'oundation  of  knowledge,  and 
anxious  and  resolved  to   ini]>rove  themselves.     One  of  the  sure 
signs  of  the  low  state  (.f  instruction  among  us  is  that  the  voung, 
on  leaving  school,  fed  as  if  the  work  of  intellectual  ctilture  weiv 
done,  and  give   up  stc  ady,  vigorous  effort   for  higher  truth  and 
Mider  knowledge.     Our  daughters  at   sixteen,  and   <air  sons  at 
eighteen  or  twenty,  have  finished  their  education.     The  true  use 
ofa  school  is  to  enable  i;nd  dispose  the  pu],il    to  learn   through 
life;  and  if  so,  win.  does  not  see  that  the  office  of  teacher  recpiires 
men  of  large' and   liberal   minds  and  <»f  winning  manners  ?— in 
other  words,  that   it   n  (^nircs  as  cultivated   men  as  can  be  found 
in  society.      If  to  drive  and  to  drill  were  the  chief  duties  of  an 
instructor— if  to  force  into  the  mind  an  amount  of  lifeless  knowl- 
edge, to   make  the  child  a  machine,  to  create  a  repugnance  to 
books,  to  mental   labor,  to  the  accpiisition  of  knowledge,  were 
the  great  objects  of  the  school-room,  then  the  teacher  might  be 
chosen  on  the  ])rinciples  which  now  govern  the  school  commit- 
tees in  no  small  part   of  our  country.     Then  the  man  who  can 
read,  write,  cipht>r,  and  whip,  and  will  exercise  his  gifts  at  the 


I  » 


&  ' 


Irfi 


?^ 


150 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


lowest  price,  deserves  the  precedence  which  he  now  too  often 
enjoys.  F.nt  if  tlir  Imnuin  being  be  something  more  than  a  block 
,,ra  biMit,— ii'  lie  have  powers  whicli  proclaim  b.im  a  child  of 
(.ud,  and  ^^\ll■h  wlic  glv.n  for  noble  acti..n  and  perpetual  prog- 
ress, then  a  b.tter  ordemf  thin-^  ^hnnl.l  bc;:lii  -Auum^s  n.^,  and 
ualv  wilio-htened  men  should  be  summoned  to  the  work  <.!'  cdu- 

cation.^ 

Put  a  man  in  a  factory,  as  ignr.rant  Imw  to  prepare  i'abrics  as 
somr  trachir.  aiv  t.)  waf/h  tlic  i^mwih  of  juvenile  minds,  and 
what   hav.M-   WMiild   be   made  of  tin-  raw  material:' 

ThLre  i-^  nothing  more  frightful  than  ibr  a  teacher  to  knovr 
oidv  what  his  scholars  are   intcnde(l   to   know/ 

Tlie  .spirit  only  can  teaeli.  Not  any  prol'ane  man,  not  any 
sensual,  not  any  liar,  imt  any  -lave,  can  teach,  but  only  lie  can 
-ivv  who  ha-;  \\r  .ndy  can  crcat.'  who  i<.  The  man  on  whom 
the  H)ul  de:.cend.-,  through  whum  the  soul  s[>eak-,  alone  can 
teach.  ^^.uralZM•.  pirtv,  h.ve,  wi-dom,  (^an  teach;  and  every  man 
can  open  hi-  dour  t..  the-'  angel>,  and  liny  -hall  bring  him  the 
crift  oftonoaie-.  Ihii  thr  man  wh^  aim- to  .-peak  a.-^  books  enable, 
assvnods  use,  a-  the  fa.-hion   -uidi -,  and   a-   interest  commands, 

bal)ble.-.      Let  him  hu-h.  ^ 

The  diri-iian  teacher  nf  a  band  of  .-hildren  combiner  the  office 
of  the  preacher  and  the  parent,  and  ha-  more  to  do  in  shaping 
the   minal   and   the   moral-  of  the  conununity  than   i)reacher  and 

jtarent   united. 

The  teaclu-r  who  >pend-  -ix  hour-  a  day  with  my  child  spends 
tliree  times  a-<  many  hour-  a-  I  do,  and  twenty-fold  more  time 
than  mv  pa.-tor  does.  I  have  no  words  to  expix\-s  my  sense  of 
the  importance  of  having  that  office  filled  l)y  men  and  women  of 
the  purest  motives,  the  nol)lest  enthusiasm,  the  finest  cidture,  the 
broadest  charities,  and  the  mo-t  devoted   Chri.-tian   purpose.     A 


V? 


^  ^ 


k 


MA.N    IN    ACTION. 


lol 


teacher  should  be  the  strongest  and  most  angelic  man  that 
breathes.  Xo  man  living  is  intrusted  with  such  pn ciou^  ma- 
terial. No  man  living  can  do  so  much  to  set  luunan  lilc  to 
a  noble  tune.  Xo  man  living  needs  higher  (pialiiicatiun.-.  fur 
his  work.' 

AVilKii?— The    question    of   the    choice    of   a    i)rorcssion    is 
intensely  important,  and  the  choice  is  a  veritable  turning  point. 
It  ought  carefully  tQ  be  kept  in  view  for  years  in  advance.     Life 
IS  very  like  a  battle  or  a  game  of  chess,  and  there  ought  to  be 
some  plan  of  the  campaign.     These  are  esi)eciallv  davs  in  which 
a  man  must  make  up  his  mind  to  be  Homcthing.     ^.{vn  will  go  to 
the  army  or  to  the  bar,  if  only  that  they  may  be  able  to  give  t!ic 
world  some  account  of  themselves.     Those  few  men  who  do  not 
enter  a  profession  belong  to  a  class  wliicdi  has  the  leisure  and 
independence  conferred  by  the  possession  of  means  and  position, 
a  class  which   has  great  duties  imi)osed  on  it,  and  is  so  a  profes- 
sion in  itself     A  wise  parent  will  watcli  his  child  carefuUv  to  see 
what  his  bias  or  t-ndcncy  may  be.     Dr.  Johnson  has  delined 
genius  as  strong,  natural  talent,  accidentally  directed   in  a  par- 
ticular direction.     To  say  the  least,  this  definition  is  not  exhatist- 
ive.     Great  natural  ability  Avill  doubtless  enabl-  a  nrin  to  excel 
in  almost  any  direction,  but  genius  more  ordinarilv  supj)()ses  a 
combination  of  abilities  in  a  special  direction.      I  believe  a  great 
deal  is  done  in  a  child's  education  if  you  can  discover  a  bias 
and  give  shape  and  direction  to  it.     Of  course,  the  prefbrences 
of  youth  are  often  imaginary,  and  are  often  sid)jected  to  revision. 
Still,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  get  a  lad  to  feel  a  distinct  preference 
for  any  pursuit,  to  map  out,  even  in  outline,  anvthino-  like  a 
chart  of  the  future.     It  is  pre-eminently  the  misfortune  of  t\iQ 
present  day  that  so  many  young  men  are  devoid  of  enthusiasm, 
and  have  no  object  in  life. 


^  Channlns. 


-  Horace  Maiiii. 


3  Goethe. 


*  luucrsou. 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


V2 


MAN    AND    HIS    KELATIONS. 


I;    i  !» 

I,,  ■■  , 


ni'i 


^ 


MAX    IX    ACTIOX 


153 


I 


I 


5- 

r 


i; 

4 


T.et,  linwevcr,  a  few  words  1)C  sai<l  hvvv  which  may  assuage 
SOUR'  aiixioii.-,  thuu-lit-.  I  du  nnt  think  that  it  really  matters 
wlu'iher  a  voiing  fellow  lia<  >hinin--  ahilities  or  not.  Of  eoiirse, 
there  are  some  branches  of  life  lor  which  a  man  should  have 
stronir  ahilities  and  a  .-trong  l)ia<,  if  he  would  indulge  with  fair- 
ness anv  high  expectations  of  -nceess.  Such  is  authorship  as  a 
])rofo>sion,  or  the  artist's  calling.  The  most  money-getting 
departments  of  human  life  are  those  in  which  shining  al)iHty  is 
not  s<i  much  required  a>  ])rol)ity  and  common  sense.  In  most 
departments  of  life  we  have  nothing  more  to  expect  than  the 
manful  performance  of  duty  and  its  com})etent  discharge.  If  a 
l)ov  i<  not  clever,  thi-  is  a  hint  tVom  nature  to  the  i)arents  not  to 
assign  him  a  path  of  lif'  where  superlative  excellence  is  re- 
(|uircd,  with  a  view  to  .-uecess,  hut  to  llnd  him  an  avocation 
amid  tlu — 

"(;ir<rM->  (f  the  tiruMle  inonntuin.  liappy  realms  of   fruit   ami   llower; 
Distant  from  ignoble  weakness,  diblani   fnwn   ihc  height  of  puvar.    ^ 

To  do  that  which  vou  know  yoti  <'(f)i  do,  and  which  yourhcart 
u'i>-h(-s  vou  to  do,  that  i.-  the  secret  of  success.  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  wrote  : 

''Fain  wouhl   T  rllnib,  but  that   I    fear  to   fall;" 
and  elicited  hi>  C^iu-eirs  pronij)t  and  unanswerahle  retort: 
'' ll   thy  heart   fail   thee,  do  not  elimb  at  all." 

In  determininir  on  vour  future  ])rofession,  vou  must  not  allow 
vour  iudirment  to  be  overboriu'  bv  irrational  fears.  ^  ou  must 
not  be  deterred  from  clindjiuLr  bv  anvthing  else  than  a  mature 
conviction  that  if  vou  rose  bevond  ;i  certain  heiudit  vou  would 
be  certain  to  lose  vour  footing.  Timiditv,  however,  is  not  the 
usual  weakness  of  young  men.     Youth  is  generally  bold^  because 

1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


i 


it  docs  not  see  consequences;  and  Phaetons  are  much  commone 
character  than  Dcrdaluses.      To   know   the   exact    limit    of  on 
powers   is  ti  piece  of  knowledge  which  we  gain   too  frecpicntly 
only  after  bitter  experience.     Listen  to  Robert  Downing  ; 

The  common  problem  yours,  mine,  every  one's 
Is  not  to  fancy  what  were  fair  in  life, 
Provided  it  could  be,  but  finding  first 
What  may  be,  then  find  how  to  make  it  fair, 
Up  to  our  means—a  very  difierent  thing! 

Ilazlitt  says  that  if  a  youth  who  shows  no  aptitude  for 
kmguages  dances  well,  we  should  abandon  all  thou^dit  of  mak- 
ing  him  a  scholar,  and  liand  him  over  to  the  dancing-master. 
This  is  an  exaggerated  way  of  stating  a  sound  principle.  How 
much  precious  effort  is  constantly  wasted  in  the  vain  attempt  to 
convert  into  musicians  young  ladies  who  have  no  feeling  for 
^'the  concord  of  sweet  sounds!"  How  many  admirabIe^ne- 
chanics  have  been  spoiled  by  the  efforts  of  ambitious  parents  to 
educate  them  into  physicians,  or  clergymen,  or  lawvers  ' 

In  choosing  a  pursuit  in   life,  it  is  necessary,  then,  that  we 
should  consult  what  we  may  call  our  ^^  natural  instinct,"  and  that 
^ve  should  also  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  exact  limit  of  our  powers. 
But  we  are  liable  to  be  influenced— and  it  is  well  that  we  should 
be  influenced— by  certain  external  causes  or  circumstances,  such 
as  our  home  training  and  the  example  of  our  friends.     These  so 
mold  and  fashion  the  character  that  they  can  not  be  otherwise 
than  important  factors  in  our  calculations.     Sometimes  they  will 
educe  or  foster  the  natural  instinct ;   sometimes,  perhaps,  they 
will  overrule  and  depress  it.     However  this  may  be,  their  power 
can  not  be  denied.     "  The  childhood  shows  the  man  "  savs  Mil- 
ton,  ''  as  morning  shows  the  day.''  ^ 

1  W.  H.  Adams. 


.  1 


H 


1.34 


MAN    AND    ms    RELATIONS. 


SI 


I 


H 

A 

^w 

IB 

Lf 

!J 

i 

t 

*i 

■  ■ 

r 

1 

tl: 

St- 

i; 

% 

One's  Stak.— Then*  lives  not  a  man  on  cartlKniit  nf  a  lunatic 
asvluni,  who  lia.^  not  in  liini  the  power  to  do  good.  What  can 
Mntei>,  haranLTUei-,  nv  -u cnlatn,-.  do  more  than  that?  Have 
vuu  ever  entered  a  cottage,  ev.  r  traveh^l  in  a  (M.aeh,  ever  talked 
Mirh  a  peasant  in  \hr  i\M,  nv  loitered  with  a  meehanie  at  the 
loom,  and  n*;t  f-uind  that  eaeh  of  those  men  had  a  talent  ynu  had 
imt,  kn(>w  som(>  thing.,  yoii  kiuw  not  V  The  mo.^t  u>elcss  ereature 
that  (  v.r  yawnid  at  a  club  or  counted  the  verndn  mi  hi^  rags, 
under  the  .-^uir^  nt'  Calabria,  ha>  no  excuse  for  want  ..f  iiUellect. 
AVhat  nn-ii  want  i.^,  nnt  talmt,  it  is  purpose-  in  oth.r  word>,  not 
llw  powia-  to  aohiovc,  hut  th.'  will  t^  lah.u\' 

71^^.  ]i^.|.,,_t]i,.   nTornnu'— ynur    Ihaitu.^— your   lioward—your 
republican,  whum  <-lvic  storm— your  -enin.--,  whom  poetic  <torm 
impel..  ;   in  -Imrt,  every  man  witli  a  gnat  piu'pose,  <»r  even    with 
a  continuous   passion    (were    it    but    tluit    ni'  writing   the    largest 
f;,li„..)_ali  these  men  defend  themselves  by  their  internal   world 
again-t  the  fro^t-^  and  In  at<  of  the  external,  a^  tli<-  madman,  in  a 
^vorse  sense,  does;  every  fixed   idea,  su.h   a^   rules  every  genius 
and  <'vcrv  entiiu-iaM.  at  h'a.^l  periodically,  separates  and   raises  a 
man   abuve   the   bed   :.vA    board    of   thi^    earth— -above    it^    dog's 
grottoo,  buckihorn.^,  and  devil>'  wall.;  like  the  bird  of  paradise, 
he   slumbers    flying;    and    ou    hi-^    outsprea<l    pinion-    oversleeps 
Lineonx'iou^lv  the  earth. luake-   an.l   eoutlagrations   ot'  bl'e    in   his 
lonn',  fair  dream  of  hi-  idi'al  motherland. - 

Follow  tile  -tai-  of  promise  first  seen  iu  your  early  morning, 
nor  de>i>t,  thou-h  vou  find  the  labor  tollx.me  and  your  guides 
mislead.  In  the  ard.u-  of  his  enthusiasm,  a  youth  -et  f)rth 
iu  4ue>t  of  a  man  of  whom  he  might  take  counsel  as  to  his 
futuiv,  but,  after  a  long  search  and  many  (li>ap|)oiiitinent.-,  he 
came  near  relliupii.-hing  the  pursuit  as  hoi)eless,  when  Middenly 
it  occurred  to  him  ihat  oue  nuist  first  be   a   man   to   find  a   man. 


1  Bulwcr. 


Richtor. 


f 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


155 


4\ 


and,  profiting  Ly  this  suggestion,  he  set  himself  to  the  work  of 
becoming  himself  the  man  he  had  been  seeking  h)  long  and 
fruitlessly.  AVheii  last  heard  from,  he  was  still  on  the  stretch, 
near  the  end  of  his  journey,  the  goal  in  his  eye,  his  star  blazing 
more  brightly  than  when  lu'  first  l)eheld  it.' 

It   IS  one  of  the   gracious   features  of  our  nature   that  we  are 

capable  of  forming  high  and  noble  purposes.      The  mind  overleaps 

it^    ignorance,  and   fixes    upon  what   is   the  wisest  and  best.     A 

child  is  always  j)lanning  noble  things  befi)re  its  "  lite  fades  into 

the    light    of  the  common  day."     There  mav  not  alwavs  be  ( on- 

gruity  in  the>e  earlv  ambitions,  but  thev  are  nearlv  alwavs  noble. 

A    I'riend   of  mine  set    out   in   lile  with   the  complex   purpose  of 

becoming  ''  a  great   man,  a  good  man,  and  a  stage-driver."     He 

has  not  yet  achieved  greatness,  and  1  doubt  il'  he  has  ever  held  a 

four-in-hand  or  knows  wdiat  fandoa  means,  except  in    its  Latin 

sense;   but  he  has   not   failed  in   tl^e  other  part,  being  the  worthy 

pastor  of  a   church,  over  which   lie  ])resides  with  a  diu'uitv  and 

wisdom   that  are   the   proper  outcome  of  his   earlv  conceptions. 

The  weaker  element  naturally  jtassed   away,  and   the  nobler  ones 

took  up  his  expanding  powers. 

Nor  does  this  distinction  divide  men  accordinir  to  irood  and 
bad  ;  Ihr,  while  an  aimless  man  can  not  be  said  to  be  good,  he  may 
cherish  a  very  definite  aim  without  ranking  amongst  the  virtu- 
ous. Few  men  ever  held  to  a  pur[)ose  more  steadilv  than  AVar- 
ren  Hastings,  having  fi)r  the  dream  and  sole  motive  of  his  vouth 
and  manhood  to  regain  the  lost  estates  and  social  position  of  his 
family  ;  but  he  can  hardly  be  classed  amongst  good  men.  He  is 
a  fine  example,  however,  of  how*  a  clearly  conceived  purpose 
strengthens  and  insjjires  a  man.  The  career  of  Beaconsfield — 
the  most  brilliant  figure  amongst  modern  English  statesmen — is 
another  illustration  of  how  a  definite  purpose  carries  a  man  on 


1  Alcott, 


156 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


157 


to  its  fulfillment.  AVhen  tlie  young  Jew  was  laughed  and  jeered 
into  silence  in  his  first  attempt  to  address  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, he  remarked  :  "  The  time  will  €ome  when  you  will  hear 
me  -r  speaking  not  out  of  any  pettishness  of  the  moment,  but 
from  a  settled  purpose  to  lead  his  compeers.  The  rebuff  but 
whetted  the  edge  of  his  grand  ambition. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  purpose,  if  cherished  with  suffi- 
cient energy,  will  always  carry  a  man  to  its  goal— for  every  man 
has  his  limitations— but  rather  that  it  is  sure  to  carry  him  on 
toward  some   kind  of  success  ;  often  it  proves  greater  than  that 
aimed  at.     Shakespeare  went  down  to  London  to  retrieve  his 
fortune— a  very  laudable  purpose— but  the  ardor  with  which  he 
sought  it  unwittingly  ended  in  the  greatest  achievements  of  the 
human  intellect.     Saul  determined  to  crush  out  Christianity,  but 
the  energy  of  his  purpose   was  diverted   to   the  opposite  and 
immeasurably  nobler  end.     It  would  be  absurd  for  me  to  assure 
you  that  if  you  aim  and  strive  with  sufficient  energy  to  become 
great  statesmen,  or  the  heads  of  corporations,  or  famous  poets  or 
artists,  or  for  any  other  specific  high  end,  you  will  certainly  reach 
it;  for,  though  there  are  certain  great  prizes  that  any  man  may 
win  who  will-  pay  the  price,  there  are  others  that  are  reserved  for 
the  few  who  are  peculiarly  fortunate,  or  have  peculiar  claims. 
The  Providence  that,  blindly  to  us,  endows  and  strangely  leads, 
apportions  the  great  honors  of  existence ;  but  Providence  has 
nothing  good  or  high   in   store  for  one  who  does  not  resolutely 
aim  at  something  high  and  good.     A  purpose  is  the  eternal  con- 
dition of  success.^ 

City  and  Country.— Cities  force  growth,  and  make  men 
talkative  and  entertaining,  but  they  make  them  artificial.^ 

The  union  of  men  in  large    masses  is   indispensable   to   the 
development  and  rapid  growth  of  the  higher  faculties  of  men. 


•J 


Cities  have  always  been  the  fire-places  of  civilization,   whence 
light  and  heat  radiated  out  into  tlie  dark,  cold  world.^ 

The  conditions  of  city  life  may  be  made  healthy,  so  far  as  the 
physical  constitution  is  concerned ;  but  there  is  connected  with 
the  business  of  the  city  so  much  competition,  so  much  rivalrv,  so 
much  necessity  for  industry,  that  I  think  it  is  a  perpetual, 
chronic,  wholesale  violation  of  natural  law.  There  are  ten  men 
that  can  succeed  in  the  country,  where  there  is  one  tliat  can 
succeed  in  the  city.^ 

A  great  city  is  a  huge  living  creature,  with  life  and  breath  and 
motives,  and  power  and  pride  and  destiny.     Its  being  is  just  as 
distinct  as  that  of  a  man.     If  we  could  be  lifted  above  it,  and 
obtain,  not  a  bird's-eye  view,  but  a  God's-eye  view  of  if,   w^e 
should  see  its  arteries  throbbing  with  the  majestic  currents  of 
life,  pushed  out  from  its  center  to  its  remotest  circumference,  and 
returning  through  a  multitude  of  avenues:  fleets  of  winired  mes- 
sengers   and   ministers   hanging  and   fluttering  upon  its  wave- 
washed  borders  like  a  fringe;  breath  of  steam  and  smoke  risino- 
from  its  lungs;  food  received  by  cargoes,  and  offal  discharged  by 
countless  hidden  estuaries  into  the  all-hiding  and  all-purifyino- 
sea;  grand   forces  of  animal  life  and  grander  forces  of  art  and 
nature  harnessed  to  ceaseless  service;   couriers  of  fire  flashing 
forth  on  their  way  to  other  cities,  or  returning  from  tl^em  with 
freights  of  life  and  treasure  at  their  heels;  and,  over  all,  a  robe 
of  august  architectural  beauty,  broidered  with  the  thoughts  of 
the  ages,  and  garnished  with  the  greenery  of  parks  and  lawns. 
And  this  body,  embracing  all  the  varieties  of  human  and  animal 
life,  and  all  the  matter   and  material   forces  Avhose   form   and 
movement  are  apparent  to  the  eye,  is  a  living  organism,  and  has 
a  soul.     Descending  into  it,  we  shall  find  it  the  subject  of  laws 
which  it  makes,  and  laws  which  it  does  not  make.     We  shall 


1  Hunger. 


*  Emerson. 


*  Parker. 


«  Beecher. 


158 


MAN    AND    III3   IlELATIONS. 


find  it  a  network  of  iuterc-sts,  with  congeries  of  interests,  acting 
and  reacting  upon  one  another.     Wc  shall  find  it  with  a  moral 
character  and  a  moral  influence.     Wc  shall  find  it  wth  a  heart 
will    and    .ulture,  peculiarities  of  disposition    and   genms   and 
taste,  just  as  distinct  among  the  great  cities  of  the  world  as  those 
of  a  great  n.an  among   the  great  men  of  the  world.     M  hat  a 
contrast  of  individuality  and  character  do  the  two  words  London 
and  Paris  suggest!     Light  and   darkness   convey  ideas   hardly 

more  diverse.     .     • 

It  is  said  that  the  particles  in  the  human  l.ody  arc  changed 
every  seven  vcars.     This  can  almost  be  sai.l  of  a  city,  regarding 
men  and  women  as  the  constituent  units.     Certainly  these  units 
are  changed  every  generation,  but  still  the  city  lives.     A  man 
falls  dead  upon  the  sidewalk,  or  dies  quietly  in  his  bed.     Does 
the  city  feel   it  ?     His  funeral   will   make   part   of  the  hie  of 
to-morrow.      A  few  tears  aro«n<l   a  bier,  a  few  clods   upon   a 
grave,  a  little  fauiilv  draped  in  black,  a  new  life  rushes  to  fill  the 
place  made  vacant  by  his  departure  !     Day  brings  its  roar  and 
„i..ht  its  rest,  and  there  is  no  pause ;  there  is  not  even  a  shudder 
at'the  extinction  of  a  life.     Twenty  generations  will  pass  away, 
and  the  great  eitv  which   we  see  to-day  will   be  greater  still. 
The  giant  will  be  more  gigantic,  though  not  a  life  remains  that 
even  reuiembers  the  life  of  to-day.' 

At  the  present  moment,  there  is  a  general  disposition  to  shun 
labor,  and  this  ought  to  be  regarded  as  a  bad  sign  of  our  times. 
The  citv  is  thronged  with  adventurers  from  the  country,  and  the 
liberal  professions  are  overstocked,  in  the  hope  of  escaping  the 
primeval  sentence  of  living  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow ;  and  to 
this  crowding  of  men  into  trade,  we  owe  not  only  the  neglect  of 
ac^riculturo,  but,  what  is  far  worse,  the  demoralization  of  the 
community.      It    generates    excessive   competition,    which,    of 

1  Dr.  Holland. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


159 


necessity,  generates  fraud.  Trade  Is  turned  to  <raiiiblinLS  and  a 
spirit  of  mad  speculation  exposes  public  and  private  Interests  to 
a  disastrous  instability.  It  Is,  then,  no  part  of  the  philanthropy 
which  would  elevate  the  laboring  body  to  exempt  them  from 
manual  toil.  In  truth,  a  wise  philanthropy  would,  if  possible, 
persuade  all  men  of  all  conditions  to  mix  up  a  measure 
of  this  toil  with  their  other  pursuits.  The  body,  as  well  as  the 
mind,  needs  vigorous  exertion,  and  even  the  studious  would  be 
happier  were  tliey  trained  to  labor  as  well  as  thought.  Let  us 
learn  to  regard  manual  toil  as  the  true  discipline  of  a  man.  Xot 
a  few  of  the  wisest,  grandest  spirits  have  toiknl  at  the  work-bench 
and  the  plow.^ 

If  we  could  know  the  real  motive  that  brings  the  reputable 
people  of  a  city  together,  avc  should,  very  generally,  find  It  to 
be  the  desire  to  win  wealth  without  producing  it,  and  without 
paying  in  labor  the  full  price  for  It.  The  able-bodied  farmer's 
boy  leaves  tiie  hoe  for  the  yard-stick  to  save  his  back  from 
labor;  and  there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  In  our 
larger  cities  who  have  relinquished  manly  employment,  manly 
aims  and  ambitions,  and  manly  Independence,  for  the  sole  pur- 
Y>osc  of  securing  the  results  of  the  labor  of  others  at  a  cheap 
rate.  I  do  not  say  that  they  accomplish  their  object,  for  there 
is  great  competition  in  shirking,  and  pretty  hard  work  is  made 
of  it  sometimes.  I  am  talking  simply,  of  their  motive  and 
their  aim. 

You  will  not  understand  me  to  have  any  reference  to  the 
legitimate  commerce  and  the  useful  professions  and  callings 
which  engage  large  and  honorable  numbers  In  every  city,  when  I 
say  that  the  shirks  of  the  city  are  very  great  curses  of  the 
country.  They  have  contrived  to  make  labor  disreputable,  or, 
at  least,  unfashionable.     They  have  erected  a  false  standard  of 

1  Channing. 


^gQ  ma:^  an-d  his  relations. 

,  T.        TWv  have  helped  to  establish  the  opinion  that 
respectabdity.     Thej  have        1  ^^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^ 

the  labore.-the  pro  ueer  a^d    h        t.  ^^^      and  that  the  only 

natio.-can  not  po  .bl      -  ^ J  ,,,„erce,  and  the  pro- 

gentle  p«i.n.ts  arc  ^  ;;^  J  ^  ^;^„^^.,,,,y  ^erve  then.     It  is 
fessions  and  calhng,^^  Inch  mor  ,a.iness-that 

Amerxan  products  t  Ubo  j^^^if,  „„l  to  look  upon  its 

how  much  of  it  grows  up  to  dc.p.sc  it  .^^^ 

sadlv  about  liimself.'  ^  ^ 

T1.0  fMrmors  are  the  founders  of  civilization. 

";  "  "U:!  of  :  "elt  or  „o„  ;  pure,  bco„«  H  i-  ..» 
most  pure  and  hol>  ot  ai  )  eontaminate  it, 

"     ■         ■'  ^  ,1  ".,    .1.0  ™».  cxaUed  no,io„,  of  ...l'""  P«"'; 

s;„eo  ,„..,.*»..  -;;• ;  "J'  ;?;;:„.k,  orpo,iu«.y 

ot  appi>i"o  ,  ..      etnplovmenta  ot  a 

of  human  affairs  that  we  can  make  are  the  emp    > 

country  life.     •     •     •  .  u  ^  pvident  enough,  since  this 

As  for  the  necessity  of  this  art,  it  i.  ev  .dent  en 
can  live  .'ithout  all  others,  and  no  one  other  without  this.     This 


»Dr.  Holland.         sWebster. 


4Pppcher  6  Lord  Russell. 

3  Chatham.  *  teecuer. 


w 


J_  hi  "*    ^     »  »J>-lW    "^  '^ 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


161 


is  like  speed),  without  which  the  society  of  men  can  not  be  pre- 
served ;  the  others,  like  figures  and  tropes  of  speech,  which  serve 
only  to  adorn  it.  Many  nations  have  lived,  and  some  do  still, 
without  any  art  but  this— not  so  elegantly,  I  confess,  but  still 
they  live;  and  almost  all  the  other  arts,  which  are  here  prac- 
ticed, are  beholden  to  this  for  most  of  their  materials. 

The  innocence  of  this  life  is  the  next  thing  for  which  I  com- 
mend it;  and  if  husbandmen  preserve  not  that,  they  are  much  to 
blame,  for  no  men  are  so  free  from  the  temptations  of  iniquity. 
They  live  by  what  they  can  get  by  industry  from  the  earth,  and 
others   by  what  they  can  catch  by  craft  from  men.     Thev  live 
upon  an  estate  given  them  by  their  mother,  and  others  upon  an 
estate  cheated  from  their  brethren.     They  live,  like  sheep  and 
kine,  by  the  allowances  of  nature,  and  others,  like  wolves  and 
foxes,  by  the  acquisitions  of  rapine;  and  I  hope  I  may  affirm- 
without  any  offense  to  the  great — that  sheep  and  kine  are  verv 
useful,  and  that  Avolves  and  foxes  are  pernicious  creatures.     Thev 
are,  without  dispute,  of  all  men,  the  most  quiet  and  least  apt  to 
be  inflamed  to  the  disturbance  of  the  common  wealth ;  their  man- 
ner of  life  inclines  them,  and  interest  binds  them,  to  love  peace. 
In  our  late  mad  and  miserable  civil  wars,  all  other  trades,  even 
to  the  meanest,  set  forth  whole  troops,  and  raised  up  some  great 
commanders,  who  became  famous  and  mighty  for  the  mischiefs 
they  had  done;  but  I  do  not  remember  the  name  of  anv  one 
husbandman  who  had  so  considerable  a  share  in  the  twentv  vears, 
ruin  oi'his  country  as  to  deserve  the  curses  of  his  countrvmen. 

And  if  great  delights  be  joined  with  so  much  innocence,  I 
think  it  is  ill  done  of  men  not  to  take  them  here,  where  they  are 
so  tame  and  ready  at  hand,  rather  than  hunt  for  them  in  courts 
and  cities,  where  they  are  so  w^ild  and  the  chase  so  troublesome 

and  dangerous.     .     .     . 
12 


162 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


I  shall  only  instance  one  delight  more  —  the  most  natural 
and  best-natured  of  all  others,  a  perpetual  companion  of  the 
husbandman-and  that  is,  the  satisfaction  of  looking  round  about 
him,  and  seeing  nothing  but  the  effects  and  improvements  of  his 
own'  art  and  diligence  ;  to  be  always  gathering  of  some  fruits  of 
it,  and  at  the  same  time  to  behold  others  ripening  and  others 
budding ;  to  see  all  his  fields  and  gardens  covered  with  the  beau- 
teous creatures  of  his  own  industry,  and  to  see,  like  God,  that  all 
his  works  are  good  : 

nine  atque  hinc  glomenintur  Orcades;  ipsi 

Agricolce  taciturn  perteniant  gaudia  pectus. 

On  his  heart-strings  a  secret  joy  does  strike.^ 

Some  flimiliarity  with  the  soil  seems  friendly  to  self-respect 
and   good  citizenship.     And,  to  the   credit  of  humanity,  most 
persons  desire  to    become    owner  or  occupant    of   some   small 
spot  at  least,  if  unable  to  command  acres.     A  house  without  a 
well-kept  garden  and  surroundings  almost  accuses  its  occupant 
of   disloyalty  to    himself  and    the   community.     The    occupant 
seems  unfurnished  if  unskilled  in  some  handicraft  by  which  to 
vary  his  pursuits.     One's  mind  acquires  suppleness  and  vigor, 
freshness  and  speed,  by  engaging,  at  intervals,  in  some  out-door 
recreation.     The  walk,  the  ride,  games  of  any  kind,  hardly  sup- 
ply the  skill  and  dispatch  which  strenuous  labor  at  intervals  is 
sure  to  promote.    One  comes  from  his  toil  with  faculties  whetted 
for  work  indoors.     His  labors  yield  a  satisfaction  which  a  hire- 
ling's can  not ;  his  work  is  done  under  his  eye  and  hand,  and 
needs  no  after-touches.     There  is  a  skill  caught  from  an  early 
use  of  rake  and  spade  which  nothing  else  can  supply.     An  ele- 
gant service,  moreover,  one's  garden  enables  him  to  render  his 
neighbor— the  gift  of  fruits  plucked  from  the  vines  by  his  own 

1  Cowley, 


fl'^'Sisi®  .   .  fa        ^« 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


163 


hands  of  a  dewy  morning  and  taken  to  his  door.  He  is  the 
sweeter  and  wholcsomer  through  the  day,  keeping  the  command- 
ments with  a  keener  relish.  Happily  for  him,  too,  if  lie  be  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  products  of  ancestral  orchards  and  vine- 
yards, from  which  generations  of  his  kindred  had  plucked  the 
span-led  fruits,  the  ruddy  clusters— baskets  for  family  use,  for 
winter  time,  for  gifts  to  friends,  for  festivals,  for  times  of  merry- 
making and  of  sorrow,  fruits  being  always  seasonable,  always 
welcome.^ 

It  is  a  sorrowful  proof  of  the  mistaken  ways  of  the  world  that 
the  "country,''  in  the  simple  sense  of  a  place  of  fields  and  trees, 
has  hitherto  been  the  source  of  reproach  to  its  inhabitants,  and 
that  the  words  "countryman,''  "rustic,"  "clown,"  "peasant," 
"  villager,"  still  signify  a  rude  and  untaught  person,  as  opposed 
to  the  words  "  townsman  "  and  "  citizen."     We  accept  this  usage 
of  words,  or  the  evil  which  it  signifies,  somewhat  too  quietly; 
as  if  it  were  quite   necessary  and   natural  that  country   people 
should   be  rude,  and  towns-people  gentle.     Whereas,  I  believe 
that  the  result  of  each  mode  of  life  may,  in  some  stages  of  the 
world's  progress,  be  the  exact  reverse ;  and  that  another  use  of 
words  may  be  forced  upon  us  by  a  new  aspect  of  facts,  so  that 
we  may  find  ourselves  saying :  "  Such  and  such  a  person  Is  very 
gentle  and  kind-he  is  quite  rustic;  and  such  and  such  another 
person  is  very  rude  and  ill-taught— he  is  quite  urbane." 

At  all  events,  cities  have  hitherto  gained  the  better  part  of 
their  good  report  through  our  evil  ways  of  going  on  in  the 
world  generally— chiefly  and  eminently  through  our  bad  habit 
of  fighting  with  each  other.  No  field,  in  the  middle  aws,  beino- 
safe  from  devastation,  and  every  country  lane  yielding  easier 
passage  to  the  marauders,  peacefully-minded  men  necessarily 
congregated  in  cities,  and  walled  themselves  in,  making  as  few 

1  Alcott. 


164 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


cross  couutrv  roads  as  possible :  while  the  men  who  sowed  and 
reaped  the  harvests  of  Europe  were  only  the  servants  or  slaves 
of  the  barons.     The  disdain  of  all  agricult.iral  pursuits  by  the 
nobilitv,  and  of  all   plain   facts  by  the   monks,  kept  educated 
.   Europe  in  a  state  of  mind  over  which  natural  phenomena  could 
lave  no  power  ;  bodv  and  intellect  being  lost  in  the  practice  of 
war   without  purpose,    and  the    meditation   of  words   without 
meaning.     Men  learned  the  dexterity  with  sword  and  syllogism, 
which  tLv  mistook  for  education,  within  cloister  and  tilt-yard ; 
and  looked  on  all  the  broad  space  of  the  world  of  God  mainly 
as  a  place  for  excnnse  of  horses  or  for  growth  of  food.' 

The  position  and  sphere  of  the  independent,  virtuous,  con- 
tented  farmer  has  from  earliest  time  been  painted  as  one  of 
the  most  fortunate  and  healthful,  mentally  as  well  as  physically, 
that  earth  can  afford.      Living  in   the  immediate  and  visible 
presence  of  the  all-embracing  Heavens,  directly  dependent  on 
the  Author  of  all  for  whatever  blesses  him,  he  would  seem  to  be 
marked  out  for  integrity  and  elevation   of  sentiment.     Nature 
will  not  be  cheated  ;  whoever  shall  undertake  to  palm  upon  her 
a  single  bushel  of  chalk   for  lime,  for  instance,  will  find   her 
incapable  of  relishing  his  ingenuity.     So  much  for  so  much,  is 
her  invariable  law  ;  no  shams  nor  appearances  avai.  anything 
with   her-cven  her  children,  the  crows,  are   not  half  so  often 
taken  in  bv  them  as  the  contrivers  imagine.     With  uncqualed 
advantages'  for   the  maintenance  or  attainment  of  health   and 
vigor,  with  a  thousand  silent  preachers  of  the  blessedness  of 
Temperance,  Exercise,  Justice,  and  Truth,  constantly  attending 
him,  the  Farmer's  character  would  seem  insensibly,  irresistibly 
molded  to  probity  and  honor.     In  his  vocation,  a  bow  and  a 
smirk  avail  not ;  that  which  comes  not  from  the  core  is  nothing, 
and  passes  for  nothing.     Only  where  he  ceases  to  be  a  worker 


1  Ruskin. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


165 


and  begins  to  be  a  trader  in  other  men's  labor  or  the  fruits  of 
his  own,  does  the  temptation  to  injustice  and  insincerity  begin. 
Living  ever  in  the  presence  of  Heaven,  ai»l  in  direct,  visible 
dependence  on  its  free  bounties,  we  should  say  that  the  Farmer's 
bearing  should  ever  tell  of  the  free,  bland  breeze.^,  and  his 
countenance  reflect  the  stars. 

And  yet,  on  practical  acquaintance,  we  find  him  quite  often 
another  being — narrow,  prejudiced,  and  selfish;  perverse,  sensual, 
and  depraved;  a  foe  to  other  men's  good  and  his  own.     And  not 
this  merely,  but  his  sons  have  no  love  for  his  vocation  ;  thev,  too 
generally  escape  if  when  they  can,  or  embrace  it  only  because 
they  have  not  the  ability  or  detest  the  study  necessary  to  make 
them  anything  else.     From  the  noblest  and  richest  rural  home- 
stead, you  will  see  the  youthful  heir  eagerly  hieing  to  the  distant 
city,  there  to  consecrate  years  to  the  exhibition  of  sarsenets  to 
simpering,  shopping  misses,  or  to  the  service  of  some    six-bv- 
eight    subterranean     money-changer's    den,    which    a    hodgeho.'>- 
would  disdain  to  inhabit.     Where  one  youth  is  heartily  seekin"- 
the  Farmer^s  life  from  choice,  there  are  forty  striving  or  pinin'»- 
to  escape  it.     Thus  are  our  cities  overgrown  and  bloated  with  a 
redundant,    thriftless    population,    who,    having    no    legitimate 
sphere  of  exertion,  underbid  each  other  for  employment,  and  are 
too  often  driven  by  want  and  despair  into  depraved  and  forbid- 
den courses.     Talent,  knowledge,  and  skill,  which  are  greatlv 
needed  in  the  sphere  of  rural  life,  crowd  and  jostle  each  other  on 
the    city's    pavements,  and  often  sell  to  Capital   for  a  month's 
livelihood  some  happy  invention  or  combination  which  should 
have    insured  a  competence  for  life.     Alas    for   human    frailty, 
beset    by    ravening     hunger    or    pinching     frost  —  full-pursed 
depravity  is   enabled    oft   to   drive   still   harder   bargains   than 
these!     .     .     . 


166 


MAX    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


I 


MAN    IN   ACTION. 


167 


Yet  the  Farmer's  vocation  needs  something  more  than 
increased  efficiency  and  mastery  of  Nature  to  reconcile  it  uith  a 
loftv  and  o-encrouf  ideal.  We  need  a  change  in  the  man  him- 
self,  and  in  those  circumstances  which  viialljj  affect  his  character. 
He  is  now  too  nearly  an  isolated  being.  His  world  is  a  narrow 
circle  of  material  objects  he  calls  his  own,  within  which  he  is  an 
autocrat,  though  out  of  it  little  more  than  a  cipher.  His 
associates  are  few,  and  these  mainly  rude  dependents  and 
inferiors.  His  dailv  discourse  savors  of  beeves  and  swine,  and 
the  death  of  a  sheep  on  his  farm  creates  more  sensation  in  his 
circle  than  the  fall  of  a  hero  elsewhere.  Of  the  refining, 
harmonizing,  expanding  influences  of  general  society,  he  has 
little  experience.  For  extensive  travel  or  intercourse  with  minds 
which  have  profited  by  a  large  comparison  of  nations,  climates, 
customs,  he  has  but  rare  opportunities.  The  family  circle, 
precious  as  are  its  enjoyments,  and  healthful  as  are  its  proper 
influences,  is  not  alone  sufficient  to  form  the  noblest  character  or 
satisfy  all  the  aspirations  of  the  human  heart.  The  lofty, 
ingenuous  soul  revolts  at  the  idea  of  wearing  out  its  earthly 
career  mainly  in  the  rearing  of  brutes  and  the  composting  of 
manures,  shut  out  from  all  free  range  of  congenial  associates  and 
obedience  to  nobler  impulses.  It  feels  that  a  human  life  is  ill- 
spent  in  the  mere  production  of  corn  and  cattle.  Hence  our 
youth  of  largest  promise  too  generally  escape  from  the  drudgery 
of  their  paternal  acres  to  court  the  equally  repulsive  slavery  of 
the  office  or  the  counter — not  because  it  is  preferable  in  itself, 
but  because  it  gives  scope  to  larger  hopes,  suggests  larger  posrii- 
bilities,  and,  at  all  events,  is  supposed  to  afford  larger  opportuni- 
ties for  observation,  foi  intellectual  development,  and  choice  of 
companions.  Here  is  one  cause  of  the  inferior  development  and 
progress  in  Agriculture,  as  compared  with  other  departments  of 


A* 


e> 


i> 


industrial  effort.  The  genius  and  intellect  which  shoidd  have 
taught  us  to  "speed  the  plow"  with  Titanic  energy  has  been 
attracted  to  other  vocations,  kaviiig  that  of  the  old  patriarchs  as 
sterile  as  some  bald  mountain  on  which  every  rain  levies  tribute 
to  fertilize  the  surrounding  valleys.  Not  till  the  solitary  farm- 
house, with  its  half-dozen  denizens,  its  mottled  array  of  mere 
patches  of  auxiliary  acres,  its  petty  flock  and  herd,  its  external 
decorations  of  piggery,  stable-yard,  etc.,  making  it  the  focus  of 
all  noisome  and  villainous  odors,  shall  have  been  replaced  by 
some  arrangement  more  genial,  more  expansive,  more  social  in 
its  aspects,  affording  larger  scope  to  aspiration  and  a  wider  field 
for  the  infinite  capacities  of  man's  nature,  may  we  hope  to  arrest 
the  tendencies  which  make  the  farmer  too  often  a  boor  or  a  clod, 
and  the  cultivation  of  the  earth  a  mindless,  repugnant  drudgery, 
when  it  should  be  the  noblest,  the  most  intellectual,  and  the  most 
desired  of  human  employments.^ 

"But  do  you  contend  that  no  American  vouth  should  ever 
migrate  from  the  country  to  one  of  our  cities?"  Xo,  sir;  I  do 
not.  What  I  do  maintain  is  this  :  Whoever  leaves  the  country 
to  come  hither  should  feel  sure  that  he  has  faculties,  capacities, 
powers,  for  which  the  country  affi)rds  him  no  scope,  and  that  the 
city  is  his  proper  sphere  of  usefulness.  He  should  next  be  sure 
that  he  has  ability  to  procure  a  livelihood  while  he  shall  be  labor- 
ing to  attain  that  sphere  which  he  regards  as  his  ultimate  des- 
tination. Xo  youth  should  migrate  to  a  city  without  a  thorough 
mastery  of  some  good  mechanical  trade  or  handicraft,  such  as  is 
prosecuted  in  cities,  although  he  may  not  intend  to  follow  it, 
except  in  case  of  dire  necessity.  Teaching,  clerking,  law,  etc., 
are  so  very  precarious,  except  to  men  of  established  reputation 
and  business,  that  it  is  next  to  madness  for  a  vouth  to  come  here 
relj^ing  upon  them.     With  a  good  trade,  a  hearty  willingness  to 

1  Greeley. 


4^ 


168 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


work,  Strict  temperance  and  habits  of  economy,  it  will  be  hard 
to  starve  out  a  man  who  has  once  found  employment;  not 
so  with  one  who  is  trained  only  for  a  teacher  or  clerk,  or 
who  ''h  willing  to  do  anything''— which  means  that  he  knows 
how  to  do  nothing.  With  these,  our  city  always  has  been, 
always  will  be,  crowded— it  pays  for  burying  the  greater  part 

of  them. 

The  youn<>-  man  fit  to  come  to  a  city  does  not  begin  by  importun- 
ino-  some  relative  or  friend  to  find  or  make  a  place  for  him.  Hav- 
ing  first  qualified  himself,  so  far  as  he  may,  for  usefulness  here,  he 
comes  understanding  that  he  must  begin  at  the  foot  of  the  class 
and  work  his  way  up.  Having  found  a  place  to  stop,  he  makes 
himself  acquainted  with  those  places  where  work  in  his  line  may 
be  found,  sees  the  advertisements  of ''Wants"  in  the  leading 
journals  at  an  early  hour  each  morning,  notes  those  which  hold 
out  some  prospects  for  him,  and  accepts  the  first  place  offered  him 
which  he  can  take  honorably  and  fill  acceptably.  He  who  com- 
mences in  this  way  is  quite  likely  to  get  on.^ 

Public  and  Private  Life.  —  The  majority  of  men  and 
women  who  are  ambitious  of  public  life  do  not  wish  for  it  for  the 
sake  of  doing  more  good,  nor  because  they  believe  themselves 
to  be  transcendently  adapted  to  the  performance  of  public  duties. 
They  are  not  willing  to  work  and  wait,  in  their  private  spheres 
of  action,  until  they  demonstrate  their  ability  and  fitness  for 
public  position,  and  are  sought  for  by  the  public  as  those  worthy 
of  trust  and  honor.  No,  they  desire  place  for  the  sake  of 
place  ;  they  seek  for  public  life  simply  from  a  greed  for  notoriety 
or  fame.  They  desire  to  be  known,  to  be  looked  at,  to  be  talked 
about,  to  be  lionized.  It  is  publicity  that  has  charms  for  them — 
not  public  duty  nor  public  responsibility.  All  this  is  utterly 
selfish — utterly  contemptible.     It  is  unworthy  of  sound  mauhood 


i 


man    in    ACTION. 


169 


I 


and  true  womanhood,  and  its  tendency  is  directly  demoralizing. 
When  we  remember  that  the  public  offices  of  the  country  are 
filled  mainly  by  those  who  have  attained  them  by  direct  seeking, 
spurred  on  by  this  base  ambition,  it  will  not  be  hard  to  account 
for  the  low  morals  that  are  to  be  found  in  public  life.     .     .     . 
Grass  grows  not  upon  the  highway,  but  by  the  highway  side- 
in  humble  pasture-lands,  in  quiet  meadows,  and  in  well-fenced 
homesteads.     Where  horses  tramp  and  wheels  roll,  and  cattle 
tread,  and  swine  are  driven  in  hungry  droves,  everything  is  foul 
with  dust  and  offal.     It  is  only  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence  that 
the  clover  blooms,  and  the  daisy  nods,  and  the   grass  spreads 
itself,  undisturbed,  into  velvet  lawns.     It  is  not  where  unclean 
beasts  rove  freely  and  browse  at  will  that  the  maize  perfects  its 
golden  product  and  the  bending  tree  its  fruit,  but  in  secluded 
fields,  where  the  husbandman  works  and  watches  unseen.     No 
more  is  it  in  public  life  that  the  best  affections  of  our  natures 
blossom,  and  the  little  virtues  spring  and  spread  to  give  to  life 
the  freshness  of  velvet  veTdure.     No  more  is  it  in   public  life 
that  a  golden  character  is  perfected,  and  fruit  is  matured  and 
borne  into  eternal  life.    It  is  only  in  private  life  that  the  highest 
development,  the  purest  tastes,  the  sweetest  happiness,  and  the 
finest  consummations  and  successes  of  life  are  found.     To  these 
conclusions  reason  guides  us,  and  experience  holds  us.  ^ 

Law  of  Labor.— We  exist  only  as  we  energize.^  Labor  is 
not  only  requisite  to  preserve  the  coarser  organs  in  a  state  fit  for 
their  functions,  but  it  is  equally  necessary  to  those  finer  and 
more  delicate  organs  on  which  and  by  which  the  imagination, 
and,  perhaps,  the  other  mental  powers  act,  since  it  is  probable 
that  not  only  the  inferior  parts  of  the  soul,  as  the  passions  are 
called,  but  the  understanding  itself,  makes  use  of  some  fine  cor- 
poreal instruments  in  its  operation,  though  what  they  are,  and 


1  Ibid. 


T 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


2  Sir  William  Hamilton. 


# 


170 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


whore  they  are,  may  be  somewhat  hard  to  settle;  but  that  it 
does  make  use  of  sueh  appears  from  hence:  that  a  long  hissitude 
of  the  whole  body,  and  on  the  other  hand  that  great  bodily 
labor  or  pain,  weakens,  and  sometimes  actually  destroys,  the  men- 
t.il  faculties.  Now,  as  a  due  exercise  is  essential  to  the  coarse 
muscular  parts  of  the  constitution,  and  tliat  without  this  rousing 
thev  would  become  languid  and  diseased,  the  very  same  rule 
holds  with  re<'-ard  to  those  finer  i)arts  we  have  mentioned — to 
have  them  in  proper  order,  they  must  be  sliaken  and  worked  to 

a  proper  degree.^ 

Let  us  fling  overboard  the  sickly  idea — more  like  the  lazy 
dream  of  a  water-lily  at  midday  in  a  slimy  pool  than  the  thought 
of  a  human  being — the  notion  that  there  is  any  absolute  bliss  in 
rest.  The  world  is  a  working  world  and  man  is  a  working  crea- 
ture, and  he  who  does  not  understand  this  is  plainly  out  of  place 
here.  Epicurus,  no  doubt,  sitting  in  his  leafy  Attic  garden,  with 
frairrant  honev-laden  breezes  from  Ilymettus  fanning  him  on  a 
summer's  day,  might  fancy  his  Olympian  gods  doing  nothing 
through  all  eternity  but  drinking  nectar,  and  sipping  ambrosia, 
and  lau<diinfr  at  lame  Yulcan.  But  this  certainly  was  not  his 
serious  thought;  he  was  merely  shutting  the  Celestials  of  that 
dav  off  into  a  corner,  like  an  easy  David  IIuuk^,  not  to  be  both- 
ered  in  anv  wise  with  what  he  could  not  altogether  comprehend  ; 
and  he  was  busy  himself  all  the  while  writing  books,  in  which 
sort  of  work  he  was  extremely  prolific,  having  written  not  less 
than  three  hundred  volumes  in  his  day.  Buddha,  likewise,  the 
great  Oriental  Quietlst,  if  all  that  is  written  of  his  ''Xirvana'' 
be  true,  is  the  prophet  of  an  extreme  kind  of  stupid  holy  life, 
which  never  can  be  a  model  for  a  healthy  Occidental  man.  His- 
torians and  travelers  prove  most  abundantly  that  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places  a  man  is  most  a  man  when  he  has  most  to  do.     The 


1  Burke. 


MAN    IN    ACTION. 


171 


savage,  in  a  hot  tropical  climate,  works  little,  works  violently, 
and  works  by  starts.     Our  civilization,  in  this  temperate  western 
zone,  is  all  built  up  of  a  higher  i)otency,  a  more  cunning  division, 
and  a  more  persistent  continuity  of  work.     We  are  all  working 
men,  those  who  work  with  the  brain  often  a  great  deal  more  so 
than  those  who  work  with   their  hands.     Who   more  assiduous 
in  work  than  a  well-employed  ])arrister  ?     Who  more  the  minis- 
ter of  another  man's  needs  than  a  skillful  country  surgeon  ?    Who 
more  hardly  worked  than  a  conscientious  clergyman  in  the  most 
populous  and  least  prosperous  districts  of  one  of  our  large  towns  ? 
Let.no  man,  therefore,  sit  down  and  fret  over  his  work  because 
it  is  work,  and  envy  the  rich  who  have  nothing  to  do.     The 
richest  men  are  often  those  who  have  worked,  and  who  do  work 
the  hardest ;  and  if  there  be  rich  men— as  not  a  few  there  are  in 
this  country— who  live  upon  the  inherited  produce  of  other  per- 
sons' work,  with  nothing  specially  to  do  for  themselves,  they  are 
a  class   of  men  to  be  pitied  rather  than  to  be  envied.     Work 
enough  there  is  for  them,  no  doubt.     Plato  would  not  have  tol- 
erated  them  in  his  well-ordered  republic,  nor  Alexander  Severus 
in  his  palace;  but  they  have,  unfortunately,  no  spur  for  action, 
and,  being  inspired  by  no  high  feeling  of  the  dignity  of  work  in 
the  universe,  they  will  be  found  too  frequently  sitting  down  and 
rotting  their  lives  away,  living  on  their  rents,  or  filling  up  the 
vacuity  of  their  hours  with  degrading  pleasures  and  unfruitful 
excitements.     For  such  we  nmst  be  heartily  sorry,  and,  if  they 
can  be  of  no  other  use  in   the  world,  they  may  at  least  teach  us 
not  to  fret  over  our  daily  task,  but  rather  to  rejoice  in  it.     The 
yoke  at  times  may  press  rather  heavily  on  our  necks,  but  we  have 
always  in  our  hearts  the  consolation  that  we  are  fellow-workers 
with*^  God   in    a    working    world ;    that    we    see    some    fruit  of 
our  good  work  growing  up  around  us  daily,  and  that  the  great 


172 


MAN   AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


173 


Master  of  the  vineyard  could  not  come  down  upon  us,  as  He 
might  upon  the  class  of  idle  gentlemen,  saying  :  *^  Pluck  them  uj), 
for  they  are  cumberers  of  the  ground.'^  ^ 

Limitations  of  Labor. — Manual  labor  is  a  great  good,  but, 
in  so  saying,  I  must  be  understood  to  speak  of  labor  in  its  just 
proportions.  In  excess,  it  does  great  harm.  It  is  not  a  good 
when  made  the  sole  work  of  life.  It  must  be  joined  with  higher 
means  of  improvement,  or  it  degrades  instead  of  exalting.  Man 
has  a  various  nature,  which  requires  a  variety  of  occupation  and 
discipline  for  its  growth.  Study,  meditation,  society,  and  relax- 
ation should  be  mixed  up  with  his  physical  toils.  He  has  intel- 
lect, heart,  imagination,  taste,  as  well  as  bones  and  muscles,  and 
he  is  grievously  wronged  when  compelled  to  exclusive  drudgery 
for  bodily  subsistence.  Life  should  bean  alternation  of  employ- 
ments, so  diversified  as  to  call  the  whole  man  into  action. 
L^nhap[)ily,  our  present  civilization  is  far  from  realizing  this  idea. 
It  tends  to  increase  the  amount  of  manual  toil  at  the  verv  time 
that  it  renders  this  toil  less  favorable  to  the  culture  of  the  mind. 
The  division  of  labor,  which  distinguishes  civilized  from  savage 
life,  and  to  which  we  owe  chiefly  the  perfection  of  the  arts,  tends 
to  dwarf  the  intellectual  powers  by  confining  the  activity  of  the 
individual  to  a  narrow  range,  to  a  few  details,  perhaps  to  the 
heading  of  pins,  the  pointing  of  nails,  or  the  tying  together  of 
broken  strings;  so  that  while  the  savage  has  his  fliculties  sharp- 
ened by  various  occupations,  and  by  exposure  to  various  perils, 
the  civilized  man  treads  a  monotonous,  stupefying  round  of 
unthinking  toil.  This  can  not,  must  not  always  be.  Variety 
of  action,  corresponding  to  the  variety  of  human  powers,  and 
fitted  to  develop  all,  is  the  most  important  element  of  human 
civilization.  It  should  be  the  aim  of  philanthropists.  In  pro- 
portion  as   Christianity  shall  spread   the  spirit  of  brotherhood. 


4 


there  will  and  must  be  a  more  equal  distribution  of  toils  and 
means  of  improvement.^ 

While  our  enterprise  lay  all  in  theory,  we  had  pleased  our- 
selves with  delectable  visions  of  the  spiritualization  of  labor.     It 
was  to  be  our  form  of  prayer  and  ceremonial  of  worship.     Each 
stroke  of  the  hoe  was  to  uncover  some  aromatic  root  of  wisdom 
heretoibre  hidden  from  the  sun.     Pausing  in  the  field,  to  let  the 
wind  exhale  the  moisture  from  our  foreheads,  we  were  to  look 
upward  and  catch  glimpses  into  the  far-oif  soul  of  truth.     In 
this  point  of  view,  matters  did  not  turn  out  quite  so  well  as  we 
anticipated.     It  is  very  true   that,  sometimes,  gazing   casually 
around  me,  out  of  the  midst  of  my  toil,  I  used  to  discern  a  richer 
picturesqueness  in  the  visible  scene  of  earth  and  sky.     There  was 
at  such  moments  a  novelty,  an  unwonted  aspect,  on  the  face  of 
nature,  as  if  she  had  been  taken  by  surprise  and  seen  at  unawares, 
with  no  opportunity  to  put  off  her  real  look  and  assume  the  mask 
with  which  she  mysteriously  hides  herself  from  mortals.     But 
this  was  all.     The  clods  of  earth  which  we  so  constantly  belab- 
ored  and  turned   over   and   over  were   never   etherealized   into 
thought.     Our  thoughts,   on   the  contrary,  were  fast  becoming 
cloddish.     Our  labor  symbolized  nothing,  and  left  us  mentally 
sluggi.^i   in   the  dusk  of  the    evening.     Intellectual   activity  is 
incompatible  with   any  large  amount   of  bodily  exercise.     The 
yeoman  and  the  scholar— the  yeoman  and  the  man  of  finest  moral 
culture,  though  not  the  man  of  sturdiest  sense  and  integrity— are 
two  diJfnct  individuals,  and  can  never  be  melted  or  welded  into 

one  substance.^ 

Blessedness   of   LABOR.-Lubor    rids    us   of   three    great 

evils — irksomcncss,  vice,  and  poverty.' 

It  is  the    primal    curse,  but    softened    into  mercy,  made  the 
pledge  of  cheerful  days,  and  nights  without  a  groan.' 


Blackie. 


1  Channing. 


2  Hawthorne. 


3  Voltaire. 


*  Cow  per. 


174 


MAN   AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


A  perpetual  dream  there  has  been  of  Paradises,  and  some 
luxurious  Lubberhmd,  where  the  brooks  should  run  wine,  and 
the  trees  bend  with  ready-baked  viands;  but  it  was  a  dream 
merely,  an  imposdble  dream.  Is  not  hibor  the  inheritance  of 
man?  And  what  hibor  for  the  present  is  joyous  and  not 
grievous?  Labor,  effort,  is  the  very  interruption  of  that  easo 
which  man  fooUshhj  enough  fancies  to  be  his  happiness;  and  yet 
without  hibor  there  were  no  ease,  no  rest  so  much  as  con- 
ceivable. .  .  .  Only  in  free  effort  can  any  blessedness  be 
imagined  for  us.^ 

Avoid  idleness  and  fill  up  all  the  spaces  of  thy  time  with 
severe  and  useful  employment;  for  lust  easily  creeps  in  at  those 
emptinesses  where  the  soul  is  unemployed,  and  the  body  is  at  ease ; 
for  no  easy,  healthful,  idle  person  was  ever  chaste  if  he  could  be 
tempted;  but  of  all  employments,  bodily  labor  is  the  most  useful, 
and  of  the  greatest  benefit  for  driving  away  the  devil.^ 

Necessity  is  always  the   first  stimulus  to   industry;  and  those 
who  conduct  it  with  prudence,  i)erseverance,  and  enero-y    will 
rarely  fail.     Viewed  in  this  light,  the  necessity  of  labor  is  not  a 
chastisement,  but  a  blessing— the  very  root  and  spring  of  all  that  ' 
we  call  progress  in  individuals,  and  civilization  in  nations.     It 
may,  indeed,  be  questioned    whether  a  heavier   curse  could  be 
imposed  on  man  than  the  complete  gratification  of  all  his  wishes 
without  effort  on  his  part,  leaving  nothing  for  his  hopes,  desires, 
or  struggles.     The  feeling  that  life  is  destitute  of  any  motive  or 
necessity  for  action  must  be  of  all   others  the  most  distressing 
and  the  most  insupportable  to  a  rational  being.     The  Marquis  de 
Spinola  askiug  Sir  Horace  Vere  what  his  brother  died  of,  Sir 
Horace  replied,"  He  died,  sir,  of  having  nothing  to  do.^'  "Alls! '' 
said  Spinoka,  "that  is  enough  to  kill  any  general  of  us  alk^'^ 
Labor  is  at  once  a  burden,  a  chastisement,   an   honor,  and  a 


^  Friswell. 


2  Jeremy  Taylor. 


*  Smiles. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


175 


pleasure.  It  may  be  identified  wnth  poverty,  but  there  is  also 
glory  in  it.  It  bears  witjicss,  at  the  same  time,  to  our  natural 
wants,  and  to  our  manifold  needs.  AVhat  were  man,  what  were 
life,  what  were  civilization,  without  labor?  All  that  is  great  in 
man  comes  of  labor-greatness  in  art,  in  literature,  in  science. 
Knowledge — "  the  wing  wherewith  we  fly  to  heaven  " — is  only 
acquired  through  labor.  Genius  is  but  a  capability  of  laboring 
intensely :  it  is  the  power  of  making  great  and  sustained  efforts. 
Labor  may  be  a  chastisement,  but  it  is,  indeed,  a  glorious  one. 
It  is  worship,  duty,  praise,  and  immortality — for  those  who 
labor  with  the  highest  aims  and  for  the  purest  purposes. 

There  are  many  who  murmur  and  complain  at  the  law  of 
labor  under  which  we  live,  without  reflecting  that  obedience  to 
it  is  not  onlv  in  conformitv  witli  the  Divine  will,  but  also  neces- 

a,  •- 

sary  for  the  development  of  intelligence,  and  for  the  thorough 
enjovment  of  our  common  nature.  Of  all  wretched  men,  surely 
the  idle  are  the  most  so — those  whose  life  is  barren  of  utility, 
who  have  nothing  to  do  except  to  gratify  their  senses.  Are  not 
such  men  the  most  querulous,  miserable,  and  dissatisfied  of  all, 
constant] V  in  a  state  of  ennxu,  alike  useless  to  themselves  and  to 

« 

others — mere  cumberers  of  the  earth  who,  when  removed,  are 
missed  by  none,  and  whom  none  regret?  Most  wretched  and 
ignoble  lot,  indeed,  is  the  lot  of  the  idlers.^ 

Manhood  Lost  or  Won  in  Material  Pursuits.— I  do 
not  <rive,  but  lend  mvself  to  business.^ 

This  incessant  Sabbathless  pursuit  of  a  man's  fortune  leaveth 
not  tribute  which  we  ow^e  to  God  of  our  time.^ 

The  common  experience  is,  that  the  man  fits  himself  as  well 
as  he  can  to  the  customary  details  of  that  work  or  trade  he  falls 
into,  and  tends  it  as  a  dog  turns  a  spit.  ^Then  he  is  a  part  of  the 
machine  he  moves;  the  man  is  lost.'' 


1  Ibid. 


2  Seneca. 


SBacon. 


<  Emerson. 


176 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN  IN   ACTION. 


177 


There  are  two  tilings  that  delight  my  very  soul :  First,  I 
delight  to  see  a  hard-working  and  honest  laboring  man,  espe- 
cially if  he  lias  some  dirty  calling  like  that,  for  instance^  of  a 
butcher,  a  tallow-chandler,  or  a  dealer  in  fish  or  oil — I  delight 
to  see  such  a  man  get  rich  by  fair  and  open  methods,  and  then 
go  and  build  him  a  house  in  the  best  neighborhood  in  the  jdace, 
and  build  it  so  that  evervbodv  savs :  "  He  has  got  a  fine  house, 
and  it  is  in  good  taste,  too.''  It  does  me  good;  it  makes  me  fat 
to  the  very  marrow,  to  see  him  do  that.  And,  next,  when  he 
prospers,  I  delight  t;)  see  him,  after  he  has  built  liis  house  so  as 
to  ada[)t  it  to  all  the  purposes  of  a  hoiisehohl,  employ  his  wealth 
with  such  judicious  taste,  and  manifest  such  an  appreciation  of 
thinjjs  fine  and  beautiful,  that  it  shall  sav  to  the  world,  with 
silent  words  louder  than  any  vocalization,  ^^A  man  may  be  a 
workinojman  and  follow  a  menial  callinji:,  and  vet  carrv  within 
liim  a  noble  s  )ul,  and  have  a  cultivated  and  refined  nature."  I 
like  to  see  men  that  have  been  chrysalids  break  their  covering 
and  come  out  with  all  t!ie  beautiful  colors  of  the  butterfly.^ 

One  man  exists  in  the  world  of  business,  but  there  are  a  score 
of  chinks  and  crannies  between  the  stones  of  his  warehouse,  his 
bales,  crates,  and  kdgers,  through  which  his  interior  nature 
sends  out  aspirations  and  a})petites  into  the  world  of  substance. 
Another  man  exists  in  the  world  of  business,  and  lives  there, 
too,  in  a  mean  and  perilous  sense.  Old  Paracelsus  used  to  say 
that  every  man  carries  a  demon  in  his  stomach  who  conducts 
digestion  by  processes  of  alchemy,  and.  you  now  and  then  see  a 
man  inclosing  a  goblin  t)  preside  over  liver,  spleen,  and  })ylorus, 
cunning  enough  to  pulverize  money  and  turn  it  into  heart  and 
sympathies  so  hard  that  you  might  break  the  paving-stones  of 
AVall  street  against  them.  Another  man  exists  in  the  world  of 
busine-s,  and  desires  to  live  by  nobler  faculties  outside  of  it,  but 

*  Bcccher. 


Ir 


has  not  force  enough  to  push  any  intellectual  and  delicate  fila- 
ments through  the  casings  of  counting-room  and  store.  He  is 
an  appendage  to  his  occupation.  The  things  he  owns  can  not 
be  called  his  possessions,  f)r  i\\QX  possess  him.  He  is  their 
secretary,  to  keep  the  moth  and  rust  from  them,  see  to  their 
insurance,  cast  their  interest,  and  attend  to  the  law  business  they 
involve.  It  is  not  seldom  that  an  estate  or  a  warehouse  jumps, 
in  this  w^ay,  upon  a  soul  and  rides  it  lean,  like  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea  on  Sindbad's  back.''^ 

Nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  to  see  a  man  hold  his  art, 
trade,  or  function  in  an  easy,  disengaged  way — w^earing  it  as 
a  soldier  his  sword,  which,  once  laid  aside,  the  accomplished 
soldier  gives  you  no  hint  that  he  has  ever  worn.  How  it  exalts 
our  estimate  of  the  genius  of  Charles  James  Fox  to  learn,  as 
Walpole  tells  us,  that,  after  his  long  and  exhausting  speech  on 
Ilastinji's  trial,  he  was  seen  handiniz;  the  ladies  into  the  coaches 
with  all  the  gayety  and  prattle  of  an  idle  gallant !  Too  often 
the  shopkeeper  smells  of  the  shop,  and  the  scholar,  who  should 
remind  you,  unconsciously,  that  he  has  been  on  Parnassus,  only 
by  the  odors  of  the  flowers  that  he  crushed,  which  cling  to  his 
feet,  affronts  you  with  a  huge  nosegay  stuck  in  his  bosom.^ 

Be  the  master  of  your  calling,  and  don't  let  it  master  you. 
Application  and  assiduity  must  not  sink  into  slavery.  It  is  the 
most  foolish  and  the  poorest  of  bargains,  when  a  man  gives  his 
life  for  what  he  never  lets  himself  enjoy.  "  I  have  a  rich  neigh- 
bor," says  Isaac  Walton,  ".who  is  always  so  busy  that  he  has  no 
leisure  to  laugh  ;  the  whole  business  of  his  life  is  to  get  money, 
and  more  money ;  he  is  still  drudging  on,  and  says  that  Solomon 
says:  *The  diligent  hand  niaketh  rich;'  and  it  is  true,  indeed; 
but  he  considers  not  that  it  is  not  in  the  powder  of  riches  to  make 
a  man  happy ;  or,  as  was  wisely  said  by  a  man  of  great  obser- 

13 

1  King.  2  Mathews. 


178 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


179 


vation,  'that  there  be  as  many  miseries  beyond  riches  as  on  this 
side  of  them.'  The  keys  that  keep  those  riches  hang  often  S3 
heavily  at  the  rich  man's  girdle  that  they  clog  him  with  weary 
days  and  restless  niglits,  even  when  others  sleep  qnietly.  We 
see  bnt  the  ontside  of  the  rich  man's  happiness.  Few  consider 
him  to  be  like  the  silk  worm,  that  when  she  seems  to  play,  is,  at 
the  very  same  time,  spinning  her  own  bowels  and  consnming 
herself;  and  this  many  rich  men  do,  loading  themselves  with 
corrodin*^  cures,  to  keep  what  they  have,  probably,  nnconscion- 
ablv  2:ot.  Let  ns,  therefore,  be  thankfnl  for  health  and  a  compc- 
tence,  and,  above  all,  for  a  qniet  conscience."  Sell  yourself  to 
no  devil  whatever.  Be  as  active  as  you  like,  study  punctuality, 
economize  time,  especially  to  noble  uses — it  wastes  fust;  its  days 
and  hours,  more  precious  than  the  rubies  about  madam's  neck, 
are  flying  over  our  heads  like  light  clouds  of  a  windy  day,  never 
to  return.  But  never  let  mere  worldly  success  engross  you,  nor 
bo  a  mere  <rnome  workin^r  in  anv  mine,  nor  a  slave  ot  M.iiiiiioii. 
Turn  to  the  Fairie  Queene :  what  weary  swinking  and  sweltering 
there  is  in  his  dark  cavern  ! 

Perseverance  does  not  need  to  mean  having  no  thoughts  above 
or  apart  from  gain.  Turn  the  key  on  business  when  you  go 
home  o'  niirhts,  and  come  fresh  to  it  next  morning.  There  are 
crowds  of  volunteer  convicts  chained  by  their  own  greed  to  their 
desks,  like  slaves  to  the  oar.  Idolatry  of  money  has  unnoticed 
beginnings,  and  grows,  at  last,  to  soul  atrophy,  craving  forever, 
and  forever  hungry.  The  Gods  had  an  Olympian  meaning  when 
they  gave  Midas  his  prayer,  that  whatever  he  touched  might 
turn  into  gold — and  added,  long  ears.^ 

How  many  men  of  business  do  I  know  whose  manhood  is  so 
overlaid  with  work  that  tliev  can  do  no  more.  "  I  will  have  an 
estate,"  says  one,  "  and  then  I  can  ride  on  it  and  get  my  man- 


: 


1  Geikie. 


hood."     But,  alas!  it  is  the  estate  which  rides  him,  and  not  he 
who  rides,  horsed  on  his  fortune.     This  carpenter  looks  to  me 
like  a  chip  or  shaving  of  humanity,  and  I  sometimes  think  he 
will  one  day  change  into  a  piece  of  wood.     That  stone-mason 
seems  to  be  in  the  process  of  petrifying.     Here  is  a  New  England 
lumberman  who  deals  in  logs,  thinks  of  logs,  and  dreams  of 
boards,  planks,  joists,  and  scantlings.     He  might  make  out  of 
his  logs  a  plank  road,  and  ride  easily  on  toward  the  kingdom 
of  heaven ;    nay,  he  might  construct  a  commodious  bridge  to 
carrv  him  over  many  a  deep  gulf  in  that  road;  but,  instead  of 
these,  they  are  only  a  pile  of  lumber.     So  he  goes  on.     He  is  a 
lo<^  on  the  stream,  floating  toward  the  sea  of  wealth,  slippery, 
unlovely  to  look  upon,  and  hopes  to  reach  that  end.     P>v  niid  bv 
Death  makes  a  long  arm  and  catches  our  floating  log,  and  he 
stops  on  the  shore  to  perish  in  material  rot.     Yonder  motlur  has 
.  become  a  child-keeper,  and  no  more.     She  has  been  that  >o  long 
that  her  specialty  of  business  has  run  away  with  the  universality 
of  the  woman  ;  she  is  a  mother,  nurse,  housekeeper— that  i^  all ; 
uiuther  of  bodies,  housekeeper  to  the  flesh,  nurse  to  liiaiior,  not 
to  the  soul  that  she  has  cradled  in  her  arms.     Tlure  goes  a  la  \  - 
ver  who  seems  to  be  made  of  cunning.     He  is  an  attorney  at  law ; 
he  might,  also,  have  been  a  man  at  law,  but  he  scorned  ii,  aiul 
as  I  look  at  him  the  inner  comes  outward  to  my  eye,  and  his 
face  seems  only  a  parchment,  and  thereon  is  engrossed  a  deed  of 
sale,  so  much  for  so  much.^ 

AVhen  work  enslaves  a  group  of  fiiculties,  and  employs  and 
develops  that  group  to  the  neglect  or  the  death  of  all  others, 
then  does  it  surpass  and  abuse  its  office.  This  it  is  that  makes 
one-sided  men,  partial  men,  fractional  men.  This  it  is  that  puts 
the  menial  stamp  upon  men,  that  brands  them  with  the  name 
of  their  tyrant-master.     This  it  is  which  spoils  manhood;  and 


1  Parker. 


180 


MAK   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


debases  its  subjects  to  the  level  of  their  calling.  This  it  is 
which  too  often  transforms  men  into  lawyers  and  financiers  and 
ministers  and  niercliants  and  farmers  and  hod-carriers — beings 
who  can  do  one  thing,  and  nothing  else;  who  are  competent 
in  one  direction,  and  babies  or  fools  in  every  other  direction. 
I  sav  aixain,  that  man  was  not  made  for  work,  but  work  for 
him,  and  that  its  office  is  abused  in  the  degree  by  which  it 
hinders  the  symmetrical  development  of  all  his  faculties.  One 
of  the  direct  roads  to  brutality  lies  through  unalleviated  and 
undiversified  bodilv  labor.  Let  a  man  be  worked  and  fed  as 
a  brute  is  worked  and  fed,  and  he  will  become  brutal.  A  man 
using  only  the  faculties  demanded  by  his  calling  will  develop 
onlv  those  faculties.  So  it  is  evident  that  something  besides 
work  is  necessary  for  healthful  development,  after  the  peculiar 
period  of  play  is  passed.^ 

God  makes  men,  and  men  make  blacksmiths,  tailors,  farmers, 
horse  jockeys,  tradesmen  of  all  sorts,  governors,  judges,  etc. 
The  offices  of  men  may  be  more  or  less  important,  and  of  higher 
or  lower  quality,  but  manhood  is  a  higher  possession  than  office. 
An  occupation  is  never  an  end  of  life.  It  is  an  instrument  put 
into  our  hands,  or  taken  into  our  hands,  by  which  to  gain  for 
the  body  the  means  of  living  until  sickness  or  old  age  robs  it  of 
life,  and  we  pass  on  to  the  world  for  which  this  is  a  preparation. 
However  thoroughly  acquired  and  assiduously  followed,  a  trade 
is  something  to  be  held  at  arm's  length.  I  can  illustrate  what  I 
mean  by  placing,  side  by  side,  two  horses — one  fresh  from  the 
stall,  with  every  hair  in  its  right  place,  his  head  up  and  mane 
flying,  and  another  that  has  been  worked  in  the  same  harness 
every  day  for  three  years,  until  the  skin  is  bare  on  each  hip  and 
thigh,  an  inflamed  abrasion  glows  on  each  side  of  the  backbone 
where  the  hard  saddle-pad  rests,  a  severe  gall-mark  spreads  its 


I 


MAN   IN   ACTION. 


181 


» Dr.  Holland. 


brown  patch  under  the  breast  collar,  and  all  the  other  marks  of 
an  abused  horse  abound.  Now,  a  trade,  or  a  profession,  will 
w^ar  into  a  man  as  a  harness  wears  into  a  horse.  One  can  see 
the  "  trade  mark  "  on  almost  every  soul  and  body  met  in  the 
street.  A  trade  has  taken  some  men  b}-  the  shoulders  and  shaken 
their  humanity  out  of  them.  It  has  so  warped  the  natures  of 
others  that  they  might  be  wet  down  and  set  in  the  sun  to  dry  a 
thousand  times  without  being  warped  back. 

Thus,  I  say,  a  man's  trade  or  profession  should  be  kept  at 
arm's  length.  It  should  not  be  allowed  to  tyrannize  over  him, 
to  mold  him,  to  crush  him.  It  should  not  occupy  the  whole  of 
his  attention.  So  far  from  this,  it  should  be  regarded,  in  its 
material  aspect,  at  least,  only  as  a  means  for  the  development  of 
manhood.  The  great  object  of  living  is  the  attainment  of  true 
manhood — the  cultivation  of  every  power  of  the  soul,  and  of 
every  high  spiritual  quality,  naturally  inherent  or  graciously 
superadded.  The  trade  is  beneath  the  man,  and  should  be  kept 
there.  With  this  idea  in  your  minds — and  you  may  be  very 
sure  that  it  is  the  correct  idea — just  look  around  you  and  see 
how  almost  everybody  has  missed  it.  You  and  I  both  know 
physicians  whose  mental  possessions,  beyond  their  knowledge  of 
drugs  and  diseases,  are  not  worth  anything.  We  are  acquainted 
with  lawyers  who  are  never  seen  out  of  their  offices ;  who  live 
among  pigeon-holes  and  red  tape,  and  busy  their  minds  with 
quirks  and  quarrels  so  unremittingly,  that  they  have  not  a 
thought  for  other  subjects.  They  are  not  men  at  all;  they 
are  nothing  but  lawyers.  Often  we  find  not  more  than  five 
whole  men  in  a  town  of  five  thousand  inhabitants.  Those 
who  pass  for  men,  and  who  really  do  get  married  and  have 
families,  are,  a  hundred  to  one,  fractional  men,  or  exclusively 
machines. 


182 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Elihu  Burritt  cultivated  the  man  that  was  In  him  until  his 
trade  and  his  blacksmith  shop  would  not  stay  with  him.     They 
ceased  to  be  useful  to  him.     He  could  get  a  living  in  a  way 
that  was  better  for  him.     Benjamin  Franklin  was  an  excellent 
printer,  but  he  used  his  trade  only  as  a  means.     The  develop- 
ment of  his  mind  and  his  manhood  went  on  above  it.     Printing 
with  him  was  not  an  end  of  life.     If  it  had  been,  we  should 
have  missed  his  words  of  wisdom  :  some  one  else  would  have 
built  the  kite  that  exchanged  the  first  kiss  with  electricity,  and 
less  able  men  would  have  been  set  to  do  the  work  which  he  did 
so  creditably  in  the  management  of  his  country's  atlairs.     It  is 
not  necessary  that  you  be  learned  blacksmiths  or  philosophical 
and  diplomatic  printers,  but  it  is  necessary  that  you  be  a  man 
before  your  calling,  behind  your  calling,  above  your  calling, 
outside  of  your  calling,  and  inside  of  it;  and  that  that  calling 
modifv   voiir  character  no   more   than  it  would    were  it   your 
neighbor's.^ 


1  Dr.  Hollaud. 


CHAPTEE    lY. 


ENDS 


Life,  like  some  cities,  is  full  of  blind  alleys,  leading  nowhere;   the  great  art  is  to 
keep  out  of  them.  —  Bovee. 

FIRST,  a  man  wants  to  make  a  living.  Having  made  a  liv- 
ing, he  wants  to  make  a  competency.  Having  made  a  living 
and  a  competency,  lie  wants  to  make  a  superflnitv,  and  havino* 
made  a  living  and  a  competency  and  a  superfluity,  he  w^ants — 
7nore,  The  husks  of  this  wilderness  can  never  satisfv  the  hunger 
of  the  soul.  A  lion  is  carnivorous,  and  wants  meat ;  an  ox  is 
graminivorous,  and  wants  grass;  but  man  is  omnivorous,  and 
Avants  everything.  The  buckets  of  this  world's  ])leasure  are  not 
large  enough  to  bring  up  water  to  slake  the  tliirst  of  the  soul. 
You  and  I  have  known  men  who  have  garnered  vast  products 
and  have  had  their  houses  full,  but  who,  morally  and  spiritually, 
have  actually  starved  to  death.  Oh !  man  of  the  world,  how 
has  it  been  with  you  ?  ^ 

Money  is  a  good  thing,  a  very  good  thing,  an  indispensable 
thing.  So  Aristotle  taught  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus  more  than 
two  thousand  years  ago;  so  venerable  and  thoughtful  pundits 
teach  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  at  the  present  hour ;  so  cun- 
ning Greeks,  and  canny  Scots,  and  vigorous  Englishmen,  always 
have  believed,  and  always  will  believe,  with  a  most  persistent 
orthodoxy.     Yet  mountains  of  money,  we  see  every  day,  often 

(183) 
iTalmage.  ^ 


184 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


serve  no  other  purpose  than  to  smother  and  to  bury  the  best 
humanity  of  the  man  Avho  has  made  it ;  and  as  for  those  who  do 
not  make  it,  but  only  get  it,  there  is  no  surer  receipt  for  riding 
post-haste  to  perdition  than  to  give  a  young  man  of  a  certain 
average  quality  of  blood,  at  a  certain  stage  of  his  existence,  a 
thousand  pounds  or  two  in  his  pockets.^ 

The  love  of  money,  says  the  Apostle,  is  the  root  of  all  evil. 
So  it  is;  but  it  is  also  the  root  of  a  great  amount  of  good.  The 
love  of  money,  in  bad  men  and  \veak  men,  incites  to  cheating, 
lying,  cruelty,  meanness,  reckless  speculation,  cold-blooded  mur- 
der. But  love  of  money,  as  the  desire  of  getting  on  in  the  world, 
is  a  constant  source  of  industry,  foresight,  prudence,  economy. 
It  educates  the  whole  communitv  to  these  virtues.  It  furnishes 
hope  to  ten  thousand  homes.  Stand  in  the  street  of  a  large  city 
at  evening,  and  see  the  very  poor  going  to  their  houses.  What 
are  they  ?  Cellars,  garrets,  hid  away  in  dark  courts,  dirty,  with- 
out ventilation,  with  nothing  of  comfort  about  them,  still  less  of 
beauty  or  taste.  You  say  :  '^  How  can  they  bear  life  under  such 
conditions?''  Because  in  these  poor  homes  there  is  love,  there 
is  intelligence,  warm  social  affections.  A  great  deal  of  strong 
thinking  is  done  in  them.  But,  besides  this,  there  is  a  sense  of 
progress.  They  are  getting  on,  or  hoping  to  do  so.  They  hope 
to  lay  by  enough  to  buy  a  small  house  some  day;  to  educate 
their  children,  and  to  leave  them  higher  up  in  the  world  than 
they  are  themselves.^ 

The  pulpit  and  the  press  have  many  commonplaces  denouncing 
the  thirst  for  wealth,  but  if  men  should  take  these  moralists  at 
their  word,  and  leave  off  aiming  to  be  rich,  the  moralists  would 
rush  to  rekindle,  at  all  hazards,  this  love  of  power  in  the  people, 
lest  civilization  should  be  undone.  .  .  .  Ages  derive  a  cult- 
ure from  the  wealth  of  Roman  Cseeais,  Leo  Tenths,  magnificent 


»Blackie. 


s  Clarke. 


ENDS. 


185 


Kings  of  France,  Grand  Dukes  of  Tuscany,  Dukes  of  Devon- 
shire, Townleys,  Yernons,  and  Peels,  in  England,  or  whatever 
great  proprietors.     It  is  the  interest  of  all  men  that  there  should 
be  Yaticans  and  Louvres,  full  of  noble  works  of  art ;  British 
Museums  and  French  Gardens  of  Plants ;  Philadelphia  Acade- 
mics of  Natural  History  ;  Bodleian,  Ambrosian,  Poyal,  Congres- 
sional Libraries.     It  is  the  interest  of  all  that  there  should  be 
Exploring  Expeditions;   Captain   Cooks,  to  voyage  round  the 
world ;  Rosses,  Franklins,  Richardsons,  and  Kanes,  to  find  the 
magnetic  and  the  geographic  poles.     We  are  all  richer  for  the 
measurement  of  a  degree  of  latitude  on  the  earth's  surface.     Our 
navigation  is  safer  for  the  chart.     How  intimately  our  knowledge 
of  the  system  of  the  universe  rests  on  that !— and  a  true  economy 
in   a  state  or  individual  will  forget  its  frugality  in  behalf  of 

claims  like  these. 

Whilst  it  is  each  man's  interest,  that,  not  only  case  and  con- 
venience of  living,  but  also  wealth  or  surplus  product,  should 
exist  somewhere,  it  need  not  be  in  his  hands.  Often  it  is  very 
undesirable  to  him.  Goethe  said  well,  "Nobody  should  be  rich 
but  those  who  understand  it."  Some  men  are  born  to  own,  and 
can  animate  all  their  possessions.  Others  can  not;  their  owning 
is  not  graceful ;  seems  to  be  a  compromise  of  their  character; 
they  seem  to  steal  their  own  dividends.  They  should  own  who 
can  administer— not  they  who  hoard  and  conceal ;  not  they  who, 
the  greater  proprietors  they  are,  are  only  the  greater  beggars ; 
but  they  whose  work  carves  out  work  for  more,  opens  a  path  for 
all.  For  he  is  the  rich  man  in  whom  the  people  are  rich,  and  he 
is  the  poor  man  in  whom  the  people  are  poor.^ 

Men  who  secure  riches  or  power  by  the  sacrifice  of  manhood, 
spending  themselves  by  piecemeal,  do  that  than  which  nothing 
could  be  more  foolish.    What  if  a  man  should  collect  musical 


^Emerson. 


186 


MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ENDS. 


187 


instruments,  and  should,  every  time  he  found  a  new  and  a  tine 
one,  pay  for  it  by  subtracting  something  from  his  power  of  hear- 
ing, so  that  when  he  had  filled  his  house  with  these  exquisite 
musical  instruments  he  was  stone  deaf — what  good  would  they 
do  him  ? 

Suppose  a  man  should  buy  the  best  paintings  of  the  old  mas- 
ters, and  the  choicest  pieces  of  the  new  artists,  to  fill  his  gallery, 
and  should  give  one  ray  of  eyesight  for  every  new  picture,  so 
that  when  he  had  finished  his  collection  he  was  as  blind  as  a 
bat — what  good  would  these  pictures  do  him  ?  Suppose  a  man 
should  buy  provision,  and  heap  his  barn  full,  and  fill  his  stalls 
with  fine  steeds  and  cattle,  and  fill  his  bins  with  grain,  and 
should  pay  for  these  numerous  treasures  by  giving  up  one  part 
after  another  of  his  house,  so  that  when  he  got  his  barn  well 
stored  he  should  have  no  house  to  live  in,  how  much  would  he 
enjoy  the  abundance  of  his  winter's  provisions?  And  yet,  are 
not  men  doing  that  which  is  as  foolish  as  this  would  be?  Are 
they  not  paying  for  money  by  sacrificing  their  conscience  ? 
Many  of  them  are  saying,  ^'  It  is  not  possible  for  us  to  prosper 
in  business  if  we  stop  to  meddle  with  taste.  We  can  not  now 
attend  to  sentimentality.  In  the  conflicts  of  life  and  in  the 
rivalries  of  business,  if  men  are  going  to  succeed,  they  must 
push  right  ahead,  and  not  stand  for  trifles."  For  success,  do 
not  men  pay  their  sensibility  ?  do  they  not  pay  their  household 
enjoyments?  do  they  not  pay  wholesome  pleasures?  And  when 
they  have  at  last  attained  success,  have  they  not  given  up  the 
best  part  of  their  being,  and  are  they  not  utterly  unfitted  to 
enjoy  that  success? 

"A  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  he 
possesseth." 


Look  at  the  excuse  of  the  man  spoken  of  by  our  Master  in 
the  parable,  who  said  : 

"  What  shall  I  do,  because  I  have  not  room  where  to  bestow  my  fruits?"      . 

It  is  as  if,  in  modern  parlance,  a  man  should  say  :  "  How  shall 
I  invest  my  money?  Which  are  the  safest  stocks?  Where 
shall  I  put  my  capital  ?  What  shall  I  do  with  my  accumulating 
interest  ?'' 

"  And  he  said,  This  will  I  do :  I  will  pull  down  my  barns  and  build  greater ; 
and  there  will  I  bestow  all  my  fruits  and  my  goods." 

And  now  see  how  the  fool  talks : 

"And  I  will  say  to  my  soul:  Soul,  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up  for  many 
years;  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry." 

Do  you  suppose  that  these  things  are  soul-food?  Is  wealth 
the  proper  sustenance  for  the  spirit?  What  a  fantasy  of  folly 
was  this !  Can  one's  manhood  be  built  up  merely  by  the  pos- 
session of  treasure?  When  men  have  acquired  money  they 
instantly  begin  to  feel  that  it  is  inadequate.  Their  restlessness 
is  not  satisfied.  Much  as  it  is,  they  call  for  more,  and  more,  and 
more;  but  it  does  not  bring  the  gratification  which  they  want. 
They  feel  the  need  of  men's  sympathy  and  confidence. 

Oftentimes  you  will  find  men  who  have  been  penurious  all 
their  lives,  and  who  have  amassed  a  fortune,  attempting  to  buy 
respect  in  their  old  age.  Sometimes  they  do  it  by  making  their 
will,  and  letting  it  be  known  what  they  are  going  to  do.  That 
is  an  exquisite  piece  of  trickery.  Where  a  man  wants  to  keep 
his  money,  and  also  wants  to  have  the  credit  of  giving  it  away,  he 
holds  on  to  it,  and  lets  it  be  known  that  he  is  going  to  give 


1 


188 


MAN   AND   HIS   RI:LATI0NS. 


ENDS. 


189 


§250,000  for  benevolent  purposes— §10,000  here,  §20,000  there, 
§50,000  somewhere  else,  and  so  on.  There  are  many  men  who 
are  going  to  be  very  generous  when  they  die.  Dead  men  are 
always  generous.  They  keep  their  money  while  they  live,  and 
only  give  it  away  when  they  no  longer  own  it.^ 

In  looking  at  great  things,  at  multitudes  of  men,  at  the  great 
social  forces  of  the  world,  we  forget  the  importance  of  the  indi- 
vidual man,  and  are  content  to  sacrifice  him  to  the  great  pur- 
poses of  the  human  race,  or  of  some  nation.     Merchants  often 
think  it  is  of  no  great  consequence  what  becomes  of  the  sailors, 
if  trade  only  flourish.     So  the  forecastle  may  be  very  unwhole- 
some and  narrow,  but  the  hold  for  the  goods  must  be  roomy  and 
ventilated  well.     The  manuflicturer  thinks  the  same  of  the  oper- 
ative, and  so  sacrifices  the  human  end  to  the  material   means. 
Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  things  get  in  the  saddle  and  ride  man- 
kind, and  man  is  sacrificed,  the  individual  cut  down  to  suit  the 
great  commercial  interest.     The  farmer  is  sacrificed  to  his  ditch. 
His  meadow  has  got  a  new  ditch,  and  he  a  new  rheumatism  to 
remember  it  by.     Here  is  a  man  of  a  large  pattern,  brave  and 
manly  by  nature,  who  does  nothing  but  buy  and  sell.     He  buys 
and  sells  all  the  week.     He  can  not  dine  with  his  wife,  sees  his 
children  only  as  dogs  lap  water  on  the  Nile,  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble, fearing  the  crocodiles  will  snap  them  in.     On  Sunday  he  is 
getting  ready  to  buy  and  sell  the  next  morning.    He  has  no  time 
to  read  or  think.     His  fortune  goes  up,  and  he  himself  is  at  the 
other  end  of  the  beam,  and  goes  down  just  in  proportion.     It  is 
plain  that  this  man  practically  thinks  he  is  of  much  less  import- 
ance than  his  estate ;  otherwise  he  would  take  more  pains  to  be 
a  man  than  to  get  a  million  of  money,  and  Avould  know  that 
buying  and  selling  and  getting  a  fortune  are   not  the  end  of 
human  life;  they  are  only  the  means  thereto.^ 


' 


The   philosophy    which   affects   to   teach    us   a   contempt   of 
money  does  not  run  very  deep.     Indeed,  it  ought  to  be  clearer 
to  philosophers  tiian  to  other  men  that  money  is  of  high  import- 
ance, and  that  its  Importance  Increases  with  every  generation. 
So  manifold  are  its  bearings  upon  the  lives  and  characters  of 
mankind,  that,  as  Henry  Taylor  observes,  In  his  ''  Notes  on  Life," 
an   insight  which   should  search  out  the  life   of  a  man  in  his 
pecuniary  relations  would  penetrate  into  almost  every  cranny  of 
his  nature.     ^^He  who  knows,  like  St.  Paul,  how  to  spare  and 
how  to  unbound,  has  a  great  knowledge :  for,  If  we  take  account 
of  all  the  virtues  with  which  money  is  mixed  up— honesty,  jus- 
tice, generosity,  charity,  frugality,  forethought,   self-sacrifice— 
and  of  their   correlative  vices,  it  is  a  knowledge  which    goes 
near  to  cover  the  length  and  breadth  of  humunity ;  and  a  right 
measure  and  manner  in  getting,  saving,  spending,  giving,  taking, 
lending,  borrowing  and  bequeathing  would  almost  argue  a  per- 
fect man.'^ 

It  is  money,  or  rather  the  want  of  it,  which  makes  men  work- 
ers. It  is  the  appetizing  provocative  that  teases  the  business 
nerve  of  more  than  half  the  world ;  while  most  of  the  results  of 
ingenuity,  skill,  intellect,  tact,  address,  and  competition  depend 
upmi  its  unremitting  pursuit.  Want  of  money  is  the  great 
principle  of  moral  gravitation,  the  only  power  that  is  strong 
enough  to  keep  things  in  their  places.  It  is  this  scantiness  of 
means,  this  continual  deficiency,  this  constant  hitch,  this  per- 
petual struggle  to  keep  the  head  abov^e  water  and  the  wolf  from 
the  door,  that  keeps  society  from  falling  to  pieces.  .  .  .  But 
let  us  remember,  at  the  same  time,  the  danger  of  forgetting  the 
end  in  the  means,  and  attaching  more  importance  to  gold  itself 
than  to  the  things  which  it  will  purchase.  Let  us  remember  the 
warning  of  "-  holy  George  Herbert :  ^' 


1  Beecher. 


2  Parker. 


190 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Wealth  is  the  Conjuror's  Devil, 
Whom,  when  he  thinks  he  hath,  the  Devil  hath  him. 
Gold  thou  mayst  safely  touch  ;  but  if  it  stick 
Unto  thy  hands,  it  icoundeth  to  the  quick. 

A  great  deal  has  been  written  on  the  art  of  monev-o-ettino-. 
but,  thougli   comparatively  few  become  rich,  there   is  no  real 
secret  about  it.     The  pith  of  the  worlcFs  wisdom  on  it  is  con- 
densed into  a  few  proverbs.     To  work  hard,  to  improve  small 
opportunities,  to  economize,  to  avoid  debt,  are  the  general  rules 
in  which  is  summed  up  the  hoarded  experience  of  centuries,  and 
the  most  sagacious  writers  have  added  little  to  them.     Of  all  the 
objects  which  a  man  can   propose  to   himself,  that  of  monev- 
making  is  the  simplest  and  most  attainable,  provided  he  will 
take  the  proper  steps.     To  become  an   artist,  a  statesman,  an 
orator,  a  poet,  or  a  scholar  of  high  ability,  is  what  few  persons 
can  expect.     In  some  callings,  not  even   the  most   indeflitigable 
effort  and  the  most  exhaustless  patience  are  sure  to  win  success. 
The  man,  on  the  contrary,  who  strives  to  gain  money  knows  that 
he   is  following  no  chimera,   no    phantom   or  will-o'-the-wisp, 
which  will   forever  beckon   him   on,  yet  forever  baffle  him,  or 
which,  if  attained,  will  only  mock  his  expectations.     He  toils  for 
a  definite  end,  and  there  is  no  sense  of  inconcrruitv  between  his 
toil  and  his  hope.     Money-getting  is  a  pursuit  in  which  almost 
any  diligent,  earnest,  prudent  man  may  hope  to  get  on,  without 
brilliant  talents  or  genius.     Any  beginner  in  life,  who  has  mas- 
tered the  three  R's— ^' Readin',  'Ritin',  and  Tuthmetic  "— may 
hope  to  become  independent,  if  not  rich,  if  he  will  but  work  per- 
sistently, be  temperate,  and  save  a  part  of  his  earnings.     Mediocre 
abilities  will  suffice  for  this  end— nay,  uuiy  prove  more  advanta- 
geous than  the  most  dazzling  mental  gifts.^ 

To  conclude:  money  is  a  good  thing,  of  which  every  man 

1  Mathews.  2  ibid. 


ENDS. 


191 


should  try  to  secure  enough  to  avoid  dependence  upon  others, 
either  for  his  bread  or  his  opinions ;  but  it  is  not  so  good  a  thing 
that,  to  win  it,  one  should  crawl  in  the  dust,  stoop  to  a  mean  or 
dishonorable    acUon,    or    give    his    conscience    a   single    pang. 
Money-getting  is  unhealthy  when  it  impoverishes  the  mind  or 
dries  up^he  sources  of  the  spiritual  life;  when  it  extinguishes 
the  sense  of  beauty,  and  makes  one  indifferent  to  tlie  wonders 
of  nature  and  art ;  when  it  blunts  the  moral  sense,  and  confuses 
the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong,  virtue  and  vice ;  when 
it  stifles  religious  impulse,  and  blots  all  thought  of  God  from  the 
soul.     Money-g?tting  is  unhealthy,  again,  when  it  engrosses  all 
one's  thoughts,  leads  a  man  to  live  meanly  and  coarsely,  to  do 
without  books,  pictures,  music,  travel,  for  the  sake  of  greater 
gains,  and  causes  him  to  find  his  deepest  and  most  soul-satisfying 
joy,  not  in  the  cuUure  of  his  heart  or  mind,  not  in  doing  good  to 
himself  or  others,  but  in  the  adding  of  eagle  to  eagle,  in  the 
knowledge  that  the  money  in  his  chest  is  piled  up  higher  and 
higher  every  year,  that  his  account  at  the  bank   is  constantly 
growing,  that  he  is  adding  bonds  to  bonds,  mortgages  to  mort- 
gages, stocks  to  stocks,  and  may  say  to  himself:  ^' Soul,  thou 
hast  much  goods  laid  up  for  many  years."  ^ 

F^j^iK.— When  that  prodigy  of  genius  and  precocity,  Chatter- 
ton,  "the  marvelous  boy,  the  sleepless  soul,  that  perished  in 
his  pride,"  was  but  eight  years  old,  a  manufacturer,  desiring 
to  present  him  with  a  cup,  asked  him  what  device  should 
be  inscribed  on  it.  "Paint  me  an  angel,"  was  the  reply, 
^^vith    wings  and   a   trumpet,  to    trumpet   my   name  over  the 

world."  2 

If  a  man  does  not  erect,  in  this  age,  his  own  tomb  ere  he 
dies,  he  shall  live  no  longer  in  monument  than  the  bell  rings 
and  the  widow  weeps.^ 


1  Mathews. 


2  Ibid. 


3  Shakespeare. 


192 


MAN   AND   HI3   RELATIONS. 


The  desire  of  fame  hath  been  no  inconsiderable  motive  to 
quicken  you  in  the  pursuit  of  those  actions  which  will  best 
deserve  it.* 

Those  who  des})ise  fame  seldom  deserve  it.  AVe  are  apt  to 
undervalue  the  purchase  we  can  not  reach,  to  conceal  our  poverty 
the  better.  It  is  a  spark  which  kindles  upon  the  best  fuel,  and 
burns  brightest  in  the  bravest  breast.^ 

It  is  right  that  we  should  want  to  be  thought  well  of  God 
says  a  good  name  is  better  than  j)recious  ointment.  It  is  an 
immense  power  for  good.  Always  to  be  on  the  right  side, 
ready  to  speak  or  to  act  for  the  cause  of  God,  and  one's 
country,  gives  one  a  reputation  that  is  fit  to  be  the  ambition 
of  anv  man.^ 

Man  is  naturally  a  prospective  creature,  endowed  not  only  with 
a  capacity  of  comparing  the  present  with  the  past,  but  also  of 
anticipating  the  future,  and  dwelling  with  anxious  rumination 
on  scenes  which  are  yet  remote.  He  is  capable  of  carrying  his 
views,  of  attaching  his  anxieties,  to  a  period  much  more  distant 
than  that  which  measures  the  limits  of  his  present  existence; 
capable,  we  distinctly  perceive,  of  identifying  himself  with  the 
sentiments  and  opinions  of  a  distant  age,  and  of  enjoying,  in  antici- 
pation, the  fame  of  which  he  is  aware  he  shall  never  be  conscious, 
and  the  praises  he  shall  never  hear.  So  strongly  is  he  disposed 
to  link  his  feelings  with  futurity,  that  shadows  become  realities 
when  contemplated  as  subsisting  there;  and  the  phantom  of 
posthumous  celebrity,  the  faint  image  of  his  being  impressed  on 
future  generations,  is  often  preferred  to  the  whole  of  his  present 
existence,  with  all  its  warm  and  vivid  realities.'* 

The  world  ...  in  thousands  of  proverbs  and  allegories, 
has  branded  the  bitterness  of  its  own  chosen  pleasures,  and  the 
inanity  of  its  own  cherished   hopes.     The  cloud  of  Ixion,  the 


» Swift. 


2  Jeremy  Collier. 


'  Talmage. 


4  Robert  Hall. 


ENDS. 


193 


stone  of  Sisyphus,  the  wasted  voice  of  Echo,  the  self-withering 
infatuation  of  Narcissus,  Pygmalion  pining  for  love  of  a  statue, 
Midas  starving  in  the  midst  of  gold,  the  wings  of  Icarus,  melt- 
ing even  while  he  soared,  and  harrowing  his  soul  with  the  com- 
ino^  terror  of  the  inevitable  fall — such  are  earth's  treasures;  and 
even  were  they  as  real  as  they  are  illusory,  how  short  a  time — 
for  w^hat  a  brief  and  fleeting  spell  of  youth — they  last !  "Ai ! 
ai!"  sings  the  sweet  Greek  poet,  "  w4ien  the  soft  plants  perish  in 
the  garden,  the  bright  green  parsley  and  the  curly  blooming 
anethus  they  live  again  and  spring  for  another  year;  but  we, 
the  great,  and  strong,  wise  men,  we,  when  once  we  die,  forgotten 
in  the  hollow  grave,  .  .  .  w^e  sleep  the  long,  long,  illimitable 
sleep  that  never  wakes."  And  all  sacred  teaching,  and  all 
Christian  song,  echo  the  same  thing ;  the  things  which  men  seek, 
the  Scriptures  tell  us,  are  but  as  the  grass  of  the  fading  flower — 
as  the  stream  which  fails  in  summer — as  clusters  of  the  poison- 
ous vine — as  apples  of  Sodom,  that  fill  the  mouth  with  gravel 
and  bitterness — as  stones  of  the  wilderness,  which  can  not  be 
turned  to  bread  :  and — as  the  light  lyrist  was  forced  to  sing — 


And  false  the  light  on  Glory's  plume 

As  fading  hues  of  even  ; 
And  Valor's  wreath,  and  Beauty's  bloom 
Are  garlands  given  to  the  tomb : 

There's  nothing  true  but  heaven.! 


The  iniquity  of  oblivion  blindly  scattereth  her  poppy,  and 
deals  with  the  memory  of  men  without  distinction  to  merit  of 
perpetuity.  Who  can  but  pity  the  founder  of  the  Pyramids? 
Herostratus  lives  that  burned  the  temple  of  Diana  ;  he  is  almost 
lost  that  built  it.    Time  hath  spared  the  epitaph  of  Adrian's  horse, 


14 


1  Farrar. 


194 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


confounded  that  of  himself  In  vain  we  compute  our  felicities  by 
the  advantage  of  our  good  names,  since  bad  have  equal  dura- 
tions, and  Thersites  is  like  to  live  as  long  as  Agamemnon,  \vith- 
out  the  flivor  of  the  everlasting  register.  Wiio  knows  whether 
the  best  of  men  be  known,  or  whether  there  be  not  more 
re-narkable  persons  forgot  than  any  that  stand  remembered  in 
the  known  account  of  time?  The  first  man  had  been  as  un- 
known as  the  last,  and  Methuselah's  long  life  had  been  his  only 

chronicle. 

Oblivion  is  not  to  be  hired.  The  greater  part  must  be  con- 
tent to  be  as  though  they  had  not  been,  to  be  found  in  the 
rec/ister  of  God,  not  in  the  record  of  man.  Twenty-seven  names 
make  up  the  first  story,  and  the  recorded  names  ever  since  con- 
tain not  one  living  century.  The  number  of  the  dead  long 
exccedeth  all  that  shall  live.  The  night  of  time  far  surpasseth  the 
day,  and  who  knows  when  was  the  equinox?  Every  hour  adds 
unto  that  current  arithmetic,  which  scarce  stands  one  moment. 
And  since  death  must  be  the;  Lncina  of  life,  and  even  pagans 
could  doubt  whether  thus  to  live  were  to  die  ;  since  our  longest 
sun  sets  at  right  dissensions,  and  makes  but  winter  arches,  and 
therefore  it  can  not  be  long  before  we  lie  down  in  darkness,  and 
have  our  liirht  in  ashes:  since  the  brother  of  death  daily  haunts 
us  with  dying  mementoes,  and  time,  that  grows  old  in  itself,  bids 
us  hope  no  long  duration — diuturnity  is  a  dream  and  folly  of 
expectation. 

Darkness  and  light  divide  the  course  of  time,  and  oblivion 
shares  with  memory  a  great  part  even  of  our  living  beings;  we 
slightly  reuKMuber  our  felicities,  and  the  smartest  strokes  of  afflic- 
tion leave  but  short  smart  upon  us.  Sense  endureth  no  extremi- 
ties, and  sorrows  destroy  us  or  themselves.  To  weep  into  stones 
are   fables.     .     .     .      Egyptian   mummies,   which    Cambyses    or 


ENDS. 


195 


time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth.  Mummy  is  become 
merchandise,  Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for 
balsams.^ 

Besides,  this  verv  desire  of  fame  is  looked  on  as  a  meanness 
and  imperfection  in  the  greatest  character.  A  solid  and  sub- 
stantial greatness  of  soul  looks  down  with  generous  neglect  on 
the  censures  and  applauses  of  the  multitude,  and  places  a  man 
beyond  the  little  noise  and  strife  of  tongues.  Accordingly,  we 
find  in  ourselves  a  secret  awe  and  veneration  for  the  character 
of  one  who  moves  above  us  in  a  regular  and  illustrious  course  of 
virtue,  without  any  regard  to  our  good  or  ill  opinions  of  him,  to 
our  reproaches  or  commendations  ;  as,  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
usual  for  us,  when  we  would  take  off  from  the  fame  and  reputa- 
tion of  an  action,  to  ascribe  it  to  vain<j;]orv  and  a  desire  of  fame 
in  the  actor.  Nor  is  this  common  judgment  and  opinion  of  man- 
kind ill-founded ;  for  certainly  it  denotes  no  great  bravery  of 
mind  to  be  worked  up  to  any  noble  action  by  so  selfish  a  motive, 
and  to  do  that  out  of  a  desire  of  fame  whicb  we  could  not  be 
promoted  to  by  a  disinterested  love  to  mankind,  or  by  a  generous 
passion  for  the  glory  of  Him  w^ho  made  us.^ 

To  be  rich,  to  be  famous — do  these  profit  a  year  hence,  when 
other  names  sound  louder  than  yours,  when  you  lie  hidden 
away  underground,  along  with  the  idle  titles  engraven  on  your 
coffin  ?  But  only  true  love  lives  after  you,  follows  your  memory 
with  secret  blessings,  or  pervades  you  and  Intercedes  for  you. 
Non  omnis  mortar^  if  dying.  I  yet  live  in  a  tender  heart  or  two  ; 
nor  am  lost  and  hopeless,  living,  if  a  sainted  departed  soul  still 
loves  and  prays  for  me."^ 

Powder. — Life  is  a  search  after  pow<^r;  and  this  is  an  element 
Avith  which  the  world  is  so  saturated — there  is  no  chink  or  crev- 
ice in  wdiich  it  is  not  lodged — that  no  honest  seeking  goes  unre- 


1  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 


2  Addison. 


3  Thackeray. 


ENDS. 


197 


196 


MAN    AM)    HIS    RELATIONS. 


%vardecl.  A  man  sluiukl  prize  events  anil  possessions  as  the  ore 
in  which  this  fine  mineral  is  found  ;  and  he  can  well  afford  to  let 
events  and  possessions,  an.l  the  breath  of  the  body  go,  if  their 
value  has  been  added  to  hini  in  the  shape  of  power.  If  he  have 
..ecured  the  elixir,  he  <'an  spare  the  wide  gardens  from  which  it 

was  distilled/ 

When  Kasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia,  first  appeared  at  the 
C  (>urt  of  the  Bassa,  he  was  inelined  to  believe  that  the  man  must 
he  plea.^ed  with  his  own  condition  whom  all  approached  with 
reverence  and  heard  with  nbedience,  and  who  had  the  power  to 
extend  his  edicts  to  a  whole  kingdom.  "  There  can  be  no  pleas- 
ure/^ said  he,  "equal  to  that  of  ieeling  at  once  the  joy  of  thou- 
sands, all  made  happy  by  wise  administration.'^ 

The  charms  of  power  do  not  appeal  alone  to  princes,  nor  do 
they  find  entertainment  only  among*  tho.^e  who  are  moved  to  use 
it  benevolently.     The  love  of  power  is  universal.     The  desire  for 
power  h  the  gmnd  motive  force  in  most  of  the  social  and  polit- 
ical changes  of  the  world.      In  the  neighborhood,  the  village,  the 
town,  th^  country,  the  state— in  all  classes  and  forms  of  society  ; 
in  all  great  popular  movements  which   involve  the  modification 
of  policies  and  institutions;  in  the  church  itself,  and  all  the  sects 
into  which  it  is  divided,  there  are  men  who  seek  for  power  as 
the  choicest  good.     To  achieve  i>ower  is  to  achieve  honor.     To 
be  clothed  with  power  is  to  be  clothed  with  purple. 

To  be  able  to  move  masses  of  men  by  elocinence,  to  guide  them 
by  counsel,  to  govern  them  by  command,  to  occupy  place  and 
exercise  official  authority— in  any  way  to  shape  the  life  and  des- 
tinv  of  men— these  are  privileges  to  be  worked  for  with  every 
fiiculty  of  the  mind,  and  purchased  by  every  sacrifice  of  time  and 
treasure.  Multitudes  are  willing  to  be  toadies  to  those  ^bove 
them,  provided  they  may  be  tyrants  to  those  beneath  them.     The 


king  may  cuff  the  courtier,  and  the  courtier  the  butler,  and  the 
butler  the  scullion,  and  the  scullion  the  dog  ;  but  the  dog  licks 
the  scullion's  hand  for  his  food,  and  the  hand-licking  runs  back 
through  the  whole  line  to  the  king  again. 

This  love  of  power,  in  its  wide  range  through  all  grades  of 
life  and  all  forms  of  society,  naist  liave  its  basis  in  nature  and 
its  legitimate  field  of  exercise.  AVhcn  it  takes  full  possession  of 
a  man,  we  dignify  it  by  the  name  of  ambition,  one  of  the  most 
imperious  passions  of  the  soul.  In  a  benevolent  nature,  like  that 
of  Easselas,  it  is  closely  allied  to  a  love  of  the  popular  consider- 
ation and  a  desire  to  minister  to  the  public  good.  In  selfish 
natures,  it  tramples  on  every  popular  right  to  reach  its  objects, 
and  refrains  from  no  cruelty  to  hold  them. 

The  forms  in  which  the  love  of  power  manifests  itself  are  Pro- 
tean.    The  perfumed  exquisite,  who  sets  the  fashion  for  his  fol- 
lowers;  the  leader  of  society,  who  gives  the  authority  of  law  to 
social  usage;  the  man  who  proclaims  his  superior  wealth  by  the 
display  of  equipage;  the  man  of  ostentatious  benevolence;  tlie 
foremost  man  in  all  public  movements  and  on  all  public  occa- 
sions; the  man  who  makes  himself  felt  by  pushing  forward  every- 
body,'  and  the  man  who   makes  himself  felt  by  holding  lack 
everybody  ;  the  man  who  wins  everybody's  good  will,  and  the 
man\vho  defies  everybody's  good  will;  the  man  who  seeks  con- 
trol by  ideas,  and  the  man  who  seeks  control  through  the  medium 
of  wealth,  or  office,  or  intrigue,  or  association  with  the  powerful- 
all  these  are  moved  by  the  love  of  power,  and  all  are  seeking  in 
some  way  to  elevate  themselves  above  their  fellows,  and  to  exer- 
cise an  influence  downward  upon  them.^ 

Power  will  intoxicate  the  best  hearts,  as  wine  the  strongest 

heads  .^ 

Those  who  have  been  once  intoxicated  with  power,  and  have 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


2  Col  ton. 


1  Emerson. 


I 


198 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


derived  any  kind  of  emolument  from  it,  even  though  but  for  one 
year,  never  ean  willingly  abandon  it. 

To  know  the  pains  of  power,  we  must  go  to  those  who  have 
it ;  to  know  its  pleasures,  we  must  go  to  those  who  are  seeking 
it— the  pains  of  power  are  real,  its  pleasures  imaginary.' 

Here  is  a  man  with  whom  power  is  a  supreme  end.     He  is  full 
of  good  impulses,  ready  to  do  you  a  favor,  cares  nothing  for 
monev;  but  come  between  him  and  his  power,  and  that  man  is 
a  Bonaparte,  and  will  sacrifice  the  lives  of  five  hundred  thousand 
men  to  enable  him  to  take  the  City  of  Moscow,  while  professing, 
and,  perhaps,  making  himself  believe,  that  he  is  acting  for  the 
good  of  his  country.     .     .     .     Let  another  come  into  compe- 
tition with  one  thus  choosing  power,  and  there  will  be  emulation. 
Let  his  rival  surpass  him,  and  there  will  be  envy,  and  there  is 
no  hatred,  or  wrath,  or  revenge  that  will  not  stir  in  a  man  and 
become   settled   passion,   issuing   in    every  form   of  cruelty  and 
crime  as  the  pursuit  of  power  becomes   intense,  and  as  others 
become  obstacles  in  the  way.      Conscience  and  humanity,  and 
other  natural  and  beautiful  principles  of  action,  may  have  wide 
scope,  but  if  the  love  of  power  be  really  supreme,  when  the 
occasion  demands  it,  they  will  give  way,  and  violence,  or  treach- 
ery, or  whatever  means  may  be  needed  to  secure  the  end,  will  be 
employed.^ 

Flow,  flow  the  waves  hated, 

Accursed,  adored, 

The  waves  of  mutation  : 

No  anchorage  is. 

Sleep  is  not,  death  is  not ; 

Who  seem  to  die  live. 

House  you  were  born  in, 

Friends  of  your  spring-time, 

Old  man  and  young  maid, 

Day's  toil  and  its  guerdon, 


1  Burke. 


a  Col  ton. 


3  Hopkins. 


ENDS.  1*^^ 

They  ar^^  all  vanishing, 
Fleeing  to  fables, 
Can  not  be  moored. 
See  the  stars  through  them, 
Through  treacherous  marbles. 
Know,  the  sta"s  yonder. 
The  stars  everlasting. 
Are  fugitive  also. 
And  emulate,  vaulted, 
The  lambent  heat-lightning, 
And  fire-fly's  flight. 
When  thou  dost  return 
On  the  wave's  circulation, 
Beholding  the  shimmer, 
The  wild  dissipation, 
And,  out  of  endeavor 
To  change  and  to  flow. 
The  gas  become  solid. 
And  phantoms  and  nothings 
Keturn  to  be  things, 
And  endless  imbroglio 
Is  law  and  the  world — 
Then  first  shalt  thou  know 
That  in  the  wild  turmoil, 
Horsed  on  the  Proteus, 
Thou  ridest  to  power. 
And  to  endurance.^ 

Happiness.— That  life  was  given  us  to  be  enjoyed,  few  men  in 
their  sober  senses,  not  distracted  by  unendurable  anguish  or 
rendered  morbid  by  a  perverse  theology,  have  ever  seriously 
dreamed  of  doubting.  The  analogy  of  the  lower  animals  con- 
firms the  common  consciousness.  Human  infancy  holds  the 
same  lan^nuure.  The  brutes  that  perish,  but  never  speculate, 
and  the  young,  whose  native  instincts  are  not  yet  marred  by 
thought,  alike  listen  to  nature  and  alike  are  joyous.     The  earth 

1  Emerson. 


200 


MAN   AXD    HIS   RELATIONS. 


is  sown  witli  pleasures,  as  the  Heavens  are  studded  with  stars— 
wherever  the  conditions  of  existence  are  unsophisticated; 
scarcely  a  scene  that  is  not  redolent  of  beauty;  scarcely  a  flower 
that  dcjes  not  breathe  sweetness.  Not  one  of  our  senses  that,  in 
its  healthy  state,  is  not  an  avenue  to  enjoyment.  Not  one  of  our 
faculties  that  it  is  not  a  delight  to  exercise.  Provision  is  made 
for  the  happiness  of  every  disposition  and  of  every  taste— the 
active,  the  contemplative,  the  sensuous,  the  ethereal.  Provision 
is  made  for  the  happiness  of  every  age— for  dancing  infancy,  for 
glowing  youth,  for  toiling  manhood,  for  reposing  age.^ 

There  are  two  ways  of  being  happy — we  may  either  diminish 
our  wants  or  augment  our  means— either  will  do,  the  result  is 
the  same ;  and  it  is  for  each  man  to  decide  for  himself,  and  do 
that  which  happens  to  be  the  easiest.  If  you  are  idle,  or  sick,  or 
poor,  however  hard  it  may  be  to  diminish  your  wants,  it  will  be 
harder  to  augment  your  means.  If  you  are  active  and  jirosper- 
ous,  or  young,  or  in  good  health,  it  may  be  easier  for  you  to 
au<»-ment  vour  means  than  to  diminish  your  wants.  But  if  you 
are  wise,  you  will  do  both  at  the  same  time,  young  or  old,  rich 
or  poor,  sick  or  well ;  and  if  you  are  very  wise,  you  will  do 
both   in   such  a  way  as   to   augment   the   general   happiness   of 

societv." 

Happiness  in  this  world,  when  it  comes,  comes  incidentally. 
Make  it  the  object  of  pursuit,  and  it  leads  us  a  wild  goose  chase, 
and  is  never  attained.^ 

The  prizes  of  life,  like  the  apples  of  Sodom,  often  turn  to 
ashes  in  the  grasp.  Of  every  object  of  human  pursuit,  how- 
ever dazzling  in  the  distance,  it  may  be  said  as  the  poet  has 
said  of  woman  : 

The  lovely  toy,  so  fiercely  sought. 
Hath  lost  its  charms  by  being  caught. 


» Greg. 


*  Franklin. 


8  Hawthorne. 


ENDS. 


201 


But  persons  who  reason  tiiu^  concerning  human  happiness  forget 
its  true  nature.  They  forget  that  it  does  not  consist  in  the  grati- 
fication of  the  desires,  nor  in  that  freedom  from  care,  that 
imagi.iary  state  of  repose  to  which  most  men  look  so  anxiously 
forward,  and  with  the  prospect  of  which  their  labors  are  light- 
ened, but  which  is  more  languid,  irksome,  and  insiq^portable 
than  all  th?  toils  of  active  life.  True,  the  objects  we  pursue 
with  so  much  ardor  are  insignificant  in  themselves,  and  never 
fulfill  our  extravagant  expectations:  but  this  by  no  means  proves 
them  unworthy  of  pursuit.  Properly  to  estimate  their  value, 
we  must  take  into  view  all  the  pleasurable  emotions  they  awaken 
prior  to  attainment. 

Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be,  blest, 

says  the  poet.  That  is,  his  true  happiness  consists  in  the  meanSj 
and  not  in  the  end;  in  acquisition,  and  not  in  j^osscssion.  The 
principle  and  source  of  it  is  not  the  gratification  of  the  desires, 
nor  does  its  amount  depend  on  the  frequency  of  such  gratifica- 
tions. He  who  cultivates  a  tree  derives  far  more  satisfaction 
from  the  care  he  bestows  upon  it  than  from  the  fruit.  Give  the 
hurftsman  his  game,  and  the  gambler  the  money  that  is  staked, 
that  they  both  may  enjoy,  without  care  or  perplexity,  the  objects 
they  pursue,  and  they  Avill  smile  at  your  folly.  ^^  If  my  son," 
said  a  certain  wealthy  man,  whose  wasteful  heir  was  fast  dis- 
sipating the  fruits  of  his  exertions,  ^^can  take  as  much  pleasure 
in  spending  my  property  as  I  have  derived  from  acquiring  it,  T 
will  not  complain.''^ 

The  happiest  man  I  have  ever  known  is  one  far  enough  from 
being  rich  in  money,  and  who  will  never  be  much  nearer  to  it. 
His  calling  fits  him,  and  he  likes  it,  rejoices  in  its  process  as 
much  as  in  its  result.     He  has  an  active  mind,  well  filled.     He 

1  Mathews. 


/ 


202 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


reads  and  he  thinks.     He  tends  his  garden  before  sunrise  every 
niornin-,  then  rides  sundry  miles  by  the  rail,  does  his  ten  hours' 
work  in  the  town,  whence  he  returns  happy  and  cheerful.     With 
his  own  smile  he  catches  the  earliest  smile  of  the  morning,  plucks 
the  ilrst  rose  of  his  garden,  and  goes  to  his  work  with  the  little 
Hower  in  his  hand,  and  a  great  one  blossoming  out  of  his  heart. 
lie  runs  over  v/ith  charity,  as  a  cloud  with  rain  ;  and  it  is  with 
him  as  with  the  cloud— what  coming  from  the  cloud  is  rain  to 
the  meadows  is  a  rainbow  of  glories  to  the  cloud  that  pours  it 
out.     The  happiness  of  the  affections  fills  up  the  good  man,  and 
he    runs    over  with    friendship  and   love— connubial,   parental, 
filial ;   friendly,  too,  and   philanthropic,  besides.     His  life  is  a 
perpetual  "  trap  to  catch  a  sunbeam,''  and  it  always  springs  and 
takes  it  in.     I  know  no  man  who  gets  more  out  of  life;  and  the 
secret  of  it  is  that  he.does  his  duty  to  himself,  to  his  brother,  and 
to  his  God.     I  know  rich  men,  and  learned  men,  men  of  great 
social  position,  and,  if  there  is  genius  in  America,  I  know  that— 
but  a  happier  man  I  have  never  known.' 

Pleasure,  used  in  a  strict  sense,  signifies  the  gratification  of  the 
senses  in  some  wav,  and  to  live  for  pleasure  in  that  sense  is, 
indeed,  base.  But  if  one  regards  happiness  as  the  product  of 
the  right  action  of  his  whole  nature ;  if  the  truest  happiness 
implies  the  development,  the  education,  of  the  social  and  the  spir- 
itual as  well  as  the  physical  elements  of  our  being  ;  if  it  includes 
benevolence,  and  takes  on  the  here  and  the  hereafter  as  well ;  if, 
in  other  words,  our  conception  of  happiness  is  one  which  requires 
the  development  of  our  entire  nature  for  time  and  for  eternity, 
then  to  sav  that  a  man  should  seek  his  own  greatest  hap})iness  is 
to  declare  a  good  and  a  noble  thing.  It  is  right  to  live  for  one's 
greatest  happiness,  if  he  have  a  true  interpretation  of  what  that 
is.     Not  only  is  it  right,  but  it  is  a  duty.^ 


1  Parker. 


-  Beecher. 


\ 


ENDS. 


503 


I  believe  in  happiness.     I  am  sure  that  God  meant  us  for  hap- 
piness.    I  think  that  we  are  all  the  better  for  happiness.     I  long 
that  every  one  of  you  should  be  as  happy  as  God  gives  it  to  any 
of  His  children  to  be.     And,  though  mere  pleasure  is  a  far  lower 
thing,  I  do  not  even  look  with  a  dubious  eye  on  pleasure.     I 
know  that  many  turn  it  into  a  Marah  fountain,  scorching  and 
poisonous  ;  but  I  know,  too,  that  innocence  can  sweeten  it.     No 
good  man  can  be  a  foe  to  happiness;  no  good  man  need  be  a  foe 
to  innocent  pleasure.     God  meant  us  to  have  something  of  both  ; 
and  the  better  we  are,  the  more  generous,  the  more  pure,  the 
more  unselfish,  the  more  we  shall  have  of  both.     For  there  is 
but  one  form  of  happiness  which  can  long  satisfy  the  soul  which 
God  has  made ;  it  is  when  happiness  is  not  sought  at  all  for  its 
own  sake,  but  comes  as  the  natural  law  of  a  noble  existence  ;  it  is 
when  duty  and   delight  are  synonymous  and   coincident ;   it  is 
when  peace  is  the  reward  of  faithfulness,  not  the  aim  of  self- 
indulgence  ;  it  is  when  gladness  is  found  in  the  service  of  others, 
not  in  the  satisfaction  of  self;  it  is  when  the  psalm  of  life  is, 
"  Lo,  I  come  to  do  Thy  will,  O  my  God  !     I  am  content  to  do  it; 
yea,  Thy  law  is  within  my  heart." 

Who  follows  pleasure,  i)leasure  slays, 

God's  wrath  upon  himself  he  wreaks : 
But  all  delights  attend  his  days 

Who  takes  with  thanks,  but  never  seeks.? 

The  happiness  and  misery  of  every  individual  of  mankind 
depends  almost  exclusively  on  the  particular  character  of  his 
habitual  associations,  and  the  relative  kind  and  intensitv  of  his 
imagination.  It  is  much  less  what  we  actually  are,  and  what 
we  actually  possess,  than  what  we  imagine  ourselves  to  be  and 
have,  that  is  decisive  of  our  existence  and  fortune.^ 


*  Farrar. 


2  Ancillon. 


A 

I 


20  i 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


Aplclus  committed  suicide  to  avoid  starvation,  ^vhcn  his 
fortune  was  reduced  to  somewhere,  in  English  money,  about 
£100.000.  The  Roman  epicure  imagined  that  he  could  not 
subsist   on   what,  to    men   in  general,  would   seem   more  than 

affluence.^ 

It  is   not  what  we  actually  attain   or  possess  that  makes  us 
happy  or  wretched,  but  what  we  think  is  essential,  or  possible, 
or  just  for  ourselves  to  attain.     The  ideal  standard  for  ourselves, 
bv  which  we  measure  our  attainments  in   all  these   respects,  is 
that  which  has  the  most  to  do  with  satisfaction  or  discontent. 
It  is  of  little  consequence  what  a  man  has,  if  he  imagines  that 
he  must  have  something  more  in  order  to  be  truly  liappy.     He 
can  not  be  content  if  this  is  wanting;  if  he  dreams  that  some- 
thin^'-  more  is  iustlv  his    due,  his  discontent  will  be  aggravated 
with  a  sense  of  injustice   from  his   friends  or  his    fellow-men; 
from  societv,  from  nature,  or  from  God.     If  his  ideal  is  rational 
and  just,  still  more  if  his  theory  of  life  teaches  him  to  find  satis- 
faction   in   those   sources  of  good  which    are    open   to    all — in 
occupation,  in  worthy  pleasures,  and  in  the   exercise  and  inter- 
change of  the  social  and  kind  affections — he  can  not  easily  be 
robbed  of  content  and  happiness.     If   his   ideal    contemplates 
self-sacrifice,  suffering,  and  evil,  as  possible  conditions  of  good, 
he  will  be  still  more  secure  of  a  happy  life.     If  it  reaches  for- 
ward to  another  scene  of  existence,  and  brings  before  him  the 
blessedness  of  a   character  perfected  by  suffering  and   made  fit 
for   the  purest  and   noblest  society   conceivable,  his  happiness 
on   earth  may   even  be  augmented  by  disappointment,  sorrow, 
and   pain. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  these  ideals  are  factitious  or  unreason- 
able, thev  become  the  source  of  constant  wretchedness.  If  a 
man,  to  be  happy,  must  be  as  rich  or  as  fashionable,  as  success- 

1  sir  William  Hamilton. 


ENDS. 


205 


fal  or  as  accomplished,  as  he  dreams  of,  all  his  actual  enjoyments 
pass  fur  little  or  nothing  till  his  ideal  desires  are  gratified.^ 

I  have  now  reigned  above  fifty  years  in  victory  or  peace,  be- 
loved by  my  subjects,  dreaded  by  my  enemies,  and  respected  by 
mv  allies.  Riches  and  honors,  power  and  pleasure,  have  waited 
on  mv  call,  nor  does  any  earthly  blessing  appear  to  have  been 
wanting  to  my  felicity.  In  this  situation,  I  have  diligently 
numbered  the  days  of  pure  and  genuine  happiness  which  have 
fidlen  to  my  lot:  they  amount  to  fourteen.  O  man!  place  not 
thy  confidence  in  this  present  world  I  ^ 

Well  mayest  thou  exclaim  :  "  Is  there  no  God,  then ;  but  at 
best  an  absentee  God,  sitting  idle,  ever  since  the  first  Sabbath,  at 
the  outside  of  his  universe,  and  ^ai'mcj  it  go?"  "Has  the  word 
Duty  no  meaning?  is  what  we  call  Duty  no  Divine  messenger 
and  guide,  but  a  false  earthly  phantasm  made  up  of  desire  and 
fear?"  "Is  the  heroic  inspiration  we  name  Virtue  but  some 
passion,  some  bubble  of  the  blood,  bubbling  in  the  direction 
others  im^fii  by?"  I  know  not;  only  this  I  know:  If  what 
thou  namcst  Happiness  be  our  true  aim,  then  are  we  all  astray. 
''  Behold,  thou  art  fatherless,  outcast,  and  the  universe  is— the 

Devil's."^ 

The  only  happiness  a  brave  man  ever  troubled  himself  with 
asking  much  about  was  happiness  enough  to  get  his  work  done. 
Not  "  I  can't  eat !"  but  "  I  can't  work  I"— that  was  the  burden 
of  all  wise  complaining  among  men.  It  is,  after  all,  the  one 
unhappiness  of  a  m.an— that  he  can  not  work ;  that  he  can  not 
get  his  destiny  as  a  man  fulfilled.  Behold  !  the  day  is  passing 
swiftly  over,  our  life  is  passing  swiftly  away,  and  the  night  com- 
eth,  wherein  no  man  can  work.  The  night  once  come,  our  hap- 
piness, our  unhappiness— it  is  all  abolished,  vanished,  clean  gone; 
a   thino-    that    has    been;    "not  of  the    slightest    consequence" 


1  Porter. 


2  The  Caliph  Abdalrahman,  quoted  by  Gibbon.  sCarlylc. 


206 


MAN   AND   lU.i    RELATIONS. 


whether  ^ve  were  happy  as  eupeptic  Curtis,  as  the  fattest  pig  of 
Epicurus,  or  unhappy  as  Job  with  potsherds,  as  musical  Byron 
with  Giaours  and  sensibilities  of  the  heart ;  as  the  unmusical  meat- 
jack  with  hard  labor  and  rust.  But  our  work !— behold  !  that  is 
not  abolished,  that  has  not  vanished;  our  work,  behold!  it 
remains,  or  the  want  of  it  remains — for  endless  times  and  eterni- 
ties remains ;  and  that  is  now  the  sole  question  with  us  for  ever- 
more!  Brief,  brawling  Day,  with  its  noisy  phantasms,  its  poor 
paper-crown's  tinsel-light,  is  gone,  and  divine  everlasting  Night, 
with  her  star-diadems,  with  her  silence  and  her  veracities,  is 
come  I ' 

That  men  have  the  power  of  j)referring  other  objects  than  hap- 
piness is  a  proposition  which  must  ultimately  be  left  to  the  attes- 
tation of  consciousness.  That  tho  pursuit  of  virtue,  however 
much  happiness  may  eventually  follow  in  its  train,  is,  in  the  first 
instance,  an  example  of  this  preference,  must  be  established  by 
that  common  voice  of  mankind  which  has  invariably  regarded 
a  virtuous  motive  as  irenerically  different  from  an  interested  one. 
And,  indeed,  even  when  the  conflict  between  strong  passions  and 
a  strong  sense  of  duty  does  net  exist,  it  is  impossible  to  measure 
the  degrees  of  virtue  by  the  scale  of  enjoyment.  The  highest 
nature  is  rarely  the  happiest.  The  mind  of  Petronius  xVrbiter 
was  probably  more  unclouded  than  that  of  ^larcus  Aurelius. 
For  eighteen  centuries  the  religious  instinct  of  Christendom  has 
recocrnized  its  ideal  in  tlie  form  of  a  '^  Man  of  Sorrows."^ 

DoiNCr  Good. — A  pure  or  holy  state  of  anything  is  that  in 
which  all  its  parts  are  helpful  or  consistent.  They  may  or  may 
not  be  homogeneous.  The  highest  or  organic  purities  are  com- 
posed of  many  elements  in  an  entirely  helpful  state.  The  high- 
est and  first  law  of  the  universe,  and  the  other  name  of  life,  is, 
therefore,  ^'  help.''     The  other  name  of  death  is  *^  separation." 


1  Ibid. 


2  Lecky. 


ENDS. 


20: 


Government  and  co-operation  are  in  all  things  and  eternally  the 
laws  of  life  ;  anarchy  and  competition,  eternally  and  in  all  things, 
the  laws  of  death.^ 

For  man  to  assist  man  is  to  be  a  god.^ 

No  one  doubts,  or  affects  to  doubt,  that  we  are  commanded, 
both  by  instinct  and  the  moral  sense,  to  seek  and  promote  the 
happiness  of  others.  To  relieve  suffering,  to  soothe  distress,  to 
confer  pleasure,  to  dry  the  tears  of  the  afflicted,  to  spread  com- 
fort and  joy  around  us,  is,  we  are  taught,  the  noblest  function 
in  which  man  can  spend  his  brightest  years  and  his  freshest 
strength.  Are  not  those  whose  lives  and  powers  are  devoted 
to  the  task  of  spreading  happiness  around  them  felt  to  be,  in  an 
especial  manner,  "  fellow-laborers  with  God,"  carrying  out  His 
purposes,  doing  Ilis  work?  Are  not  those  who  ''go  about 
doing  good"  recognized  at  once  as  the  peculiar  disciples  of  His 
exactest  image  upon  the  earth  ?  Do  we  not  measure  the  degree 
in  which  men  have  deserved  the  gratitude  of  their  species  by 
the  de<^ree  in  which  they  have  contributed  to  assuage  trouble 
and   diffuse   peace  ?'^ 

Give,  if  thou  canst,  an  alms;  if  not,  afford  instead  of  that  a 
sweet  and  gentle  word.'* 

Moral  fountains  may  be  opened  by  the  wayside  for  refreshing 
pilgrims — travelers  for  eternity.  One  sets  an  example  of  strict 
inte^n-itv  in  the  midst  of  i^reat  temptations  ;  the  sight  is  as  refresh- 
ing  to  a  tempted  pilgrim  as  is  a  fountain  to  a  thirsty  traveler. 
One  sets  an  example  of  Christian  thankfulness,  and  trusts  in  God ; 
it  may  refresh  many  a  pilgrim  who  is  careful  and  troubled  about 
many  things.  One  sets  an  example  of  forgiveness,  and  of  return- 
ing good  for  evil ;  it  may  refresh  and  invigorate  for  duty  many 
who  arc  smarting  under  a  sense  of  injustice  and  tried  with  temp- 
tations to  revenge.     We  may  thus  open  fountains  by  the  way- 


1  Ruskin. 


Pliny. 


3  Greg. 


4  Herrick. 


208 


MAX    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


side.     Vie  may  not  know  liow  niuny  wo  may  thus  benefit,  but 

God  does.' 

If  a  man  begin  right,  I  can  not  tell  how  many  tears  he  may 
wipe  awav,  how  many  l)urdens  he  may  lift,  how  many  orphans 
he  may  comfort,  how  many  outcasts  he  may  reclaim.  There 
liave  been  men  who  have  given  their  whole  life  in  the  right 
direction,  concentrating  all  their  wit  and  ingenuity,  and  mental 
acumen,  and  physical  force,  and  enthusiasm  for  Christ.  They 
climbed  the  mountain,  and  delved  into  the  mine,  and  crossed  the 
sea,  and  trudged  the  desert,  and  dropped,  at  last,  into  martyrs' 
graves,  w^aiting  for  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  They  measured 
their  lives  by  the  chains  they  broke  oif,  by  the  garments  they 
put  ui)on  nakedness,  by  the  miles  they  traveled  to  alleviate 
every  kind  of  suffering.  They  felt  in  the  thrill  of  every  nerve, 
in  the  motion  of  every  nuiscle,  in  every  throb  of  their  heart,  in 
every  respiration  of  their  lungs,  the  magnificent  truth  :  "  no  man 
liveth  to  himself.''  ^ 

There  arc  some — alas  I  there  are  many — in  the  world  who 
seem  to  hunger  and  thirst  after  nothing.  It  is  a  type  which  in 
this  a<>-e  is  getting  more  and  more  common — the  type  of  those 
who  live  as  though  they  had  no  souls,  as  though  no  God  had 
made  them,  no  Savior  died  for  them,  no  Spirit  shone  in  the 
temple  of  their  hearts.  They  live  but  little  better  than  the 
beasts  that  perish,  the  life  of  dead,  stolid,  spiritless  comfort,  the 
life  without  purpose,  without  effort,  Avithout  nobility,  without 
enthusiasm  ;  ""  the  dull,  gray  life,  and  apathetic  end."  The  great 
sea  of  human  misery  welters  around  them  ;  but  what  is  that  to 
them,  while  the  bread  is  given  and  the  water  sure  ?  Over  them, 
vast  as  the  blue  dome  of  Heaven,  brood  the  eternal  realities; 
before  them,  deeper  than  ever  plummet  sank,  flows  the  river  of 
death  ;  beyond  it,  in  gloom  unutterable,  or  in  beauty  that  can 


1  Dr.  Wise. 


2  Talmage. 


ENDS. 


209 


not  be  described,  is  either  the  outer  darkness  or  the  Citv  of  our 
God;  but  it  seems  as  though  they  had  neither  mind  to  imagine, 
nor  faith  to  realize,  nor  heart  to  understand.  These  are  they 
whom  in  his  awful  vision  the  great  poet  of  the  Middle  Ages 
saw  whirled,  like  the  autumn  leaves,  round  and  round  the  outer 
circle  of  the  prison-house,  aimlessly  following  the  flutter  of  a 
giddy  flag.  ...  Oh  !  be  not  vou  like  these.  Be  somethincr 
in  life,  do  something,  aim  at  something;  not  something  great, 
but  something  good ;  not  something  famous,  but  something 
serviceable  ;  not  leaves,  but  fruit.' 

What   if  Raphael   had    painted   for   his   own    eye,  and   then 
burned  up  his  pictures;  what  if  Shakespeare  had  written  dramas 
for  his  family  and  a  few  friends ;  what  if  Xewton  had  shown  his 
diagrams  and  calculations  to  the  great  gownismen  at  Cambridge, 
and  then   destroyed  them — it  w^ould  not  be  at  all  more  selfish 
than  the  (bourse  of  the  merchant,  scholar,  tradesman,  or  politi- 
cian, who  works  for  himself,  and   himself  alone.     I  Avish  men 
knew   the    true    use    of    great    talents,    the    true    use    of    the 
money    they   therewith    accumulate.     The    function  of  men  of 
great   genius   for  philosojihy,   letters,   art,   is   to    educate    man- 
kind.     Such   a  one  is  to  point  out  the  errors   of  the   popular 
creed,  and   indicate    new    truths.      And    what    immense    serv- 
ices   have    been    rendered    by    men    of  great    mind    who    have 
devoted  their  energies  to  this  work!  those,  for  example,  who 
have  exposed  the  errors  of  the  Heathen  mythology— the  Martin 
Luthers  who  figured  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  philosophers 
and  free-thinkers  of  the  seventeenth,  eighteenth,  and  nineteenth 
centuries.     Such   men  are    sent   into   the  world  as  soldiers  of 
humanity;  if  they  strike  against  man,  not  for  man,  how  great  is 
their  condemnation!     There  is  a  long  line  of  men  of  philosophic 
genius,  who  have  sought  to  educate  the  people,  to  free  them  from 


15 


iFarrar, 


210 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


superstition,  vices  of  body  and  spirit,  noble  souls,  who   in  the 
service  of  humanity  died  that  you  and  I  might  live ;  kings  and 
priests  burned  them  at  the  stake,  cut  oft'  their  heads,  and  over 
ground  once  slippery  with  their  blood  we  walk  secure.     So   a 
man  of  great  poetic  genius  or  eloquence— how  much  does  he  owe 
to  mankind !     What  if  he  turns  oif  from   humanity's  eyes,  and 
never  sees  nor  sings  the  highest  word  of  mankind's  joy  or  woe ! 
^Ye  drop  a  tear  on  the  not  religious  brow  of  Shakespeare;  but 
when  a  man  dedicates  his  pen  to  lust  and  wine,  and  ribald  mock 
and  scoff,  it  is  the   greatest  charity  that  can  say  to  a  Byron  : 
"Neither  do  I  condemn  thee  ;  go  and  sin  no  more.''     What  evil 
a  wicked  man  of  talent,  still  more  of  genius,  can  perpetrate  in 
his  age ;  but  what  service  a  man  of  great  poetic  genius  can  ren- 
der !     Milton  marred  his  poetry  by  that  ghastly  theology  which 
he  taught';  no  man  can  love  his  idea  of  God.     But  what  service 
he  rendered  to  mankind  by  his  love  of  freedom,  and  the  high, 
brave  morals  he  taught !     How  has  Mr.  Wordsworth  cultivated 
the  sweetest  virtues  in  his  garden  of  the  Muses,  which  is  also  a 
garden  of  Christian  literature  !     How  much  has  Mr.  Hood  done 
bv  his  two  sonjrs,  '^  The  Song  of  the  Shirt"  and  "The  Bridge 
of  Sighs!"     How  much  Mr.  Dickens  has  accomplished  with  this 
humanity  in  his  great,  generous  heart  !^ 

The  Avhole  world  calls  for  new  work  and  nobleness.  Subdue 
mutiny,  discord,  wide-spread  des})air,  by  manfulness,  justice, 
mercy,  and  wisdom.  Chaos  is  dark,  deep  as  hell;  let  light  be, 
and  there  is,  indeed,  a  green,  flowery  world.  Oh!  it  is  great, 
and  there  is  no  other  greatness  !  To  make  some  nook  of  God's 
creation  a  little  fruitfaller,  better,  more  worthy  of  God ;  to  make 
some  human  hearts  a  little  wiser,  manfuller,  happier,  more 
blessed,  less  accursed  !  It  is  work  for  a  god  !  Sooty  hell  of 
.mutiny,  and  savagery,  and    despair,  can,  by  man's  energy,  be 


1  Parker. 


ENDS. 


211 


made  a  kind  of  heaven  ;  cleared  of  its  soot,  of  its  mutiny,  of 
its  need  to  mutiny;  the  everlasting  arch  of  heaven's  azure  over- 
spanning  it  too,  and  its  cunning  meclianisnis  and  tall  chimney 
steeples  as  a  birth  of  heaven,  God  and  all  men  looking  on  it,  well 
pleased.^ 

Thousands  of  men  breathe,  move,  and  live,  pass  off  the  stao-e 
of  life,  and  are  heard  of  no  more.     Why?  they  do  not  partake 
of  good   in  the   w^orld,  and   none   were   blessed  by  tliem :  none 
could  point  to  them  as  the  means  of  their  redemption  ;  not  a  line 
they  wrote,  not  a  word  they  spoke,  could  be  recalled ;  and  so 
they  perished  :  their  light  went  out  in  darkness,  and  they  were 
not  remembered  more  than  insects  of  yesterday.     Will  you  thus 
live  and  die,  0  man  immortal?     Live  for  somethinjr.    Do  irood 
and  leave  behind  you  a  monument  of  virtue  that  the  storm  of 
time  can  never  destroy.     Write  your  name,  in  kindness,  love, 
and  mercy,  on  the  hearts  of  thousands  you  come  in  contact  with 
year  by  year :  you  will   never  be   forgotten.     No !  your  name, 
your  deeds,  will  be  as  legible  on  the  hearts  you  leave  behind  vou 
as  the  stars  on  the  brow  of  evening.     Good  deeds  will  shine  as 
the  stars  of  heaven.^ 

Character. — To  be  happy  is  not  the  purpose  of  our  being, 
but  to  deserve  happiness.^ 

There  is  in  man  a  higher  aim  than  love  of  happiness ;  he  can 
do  Avithout  happiness,  and  instead  thereof  find  blessedness.^ 

It  is  not  what  a  man  gets,  but  wdiat  a  man  is,  that  he  should 
think  of.  He  should  first  think  of  his  character,  and  then  of  his 
condition.^ 

The  great  end  of  business  is  not  the  accumulation  of  property, 
but  the  formation  of  character.  "  He  heapeth  up  riches,  and 
knoweth  not  who  shall  gather  them,"  says  the  Psalmist ;  but 
great  virtues— prudence,  wisdom,  justice,  benevolence,  piety — 


I  Carlyle. 


2  Chalmers. 


SFichte. 


*  Carlyle. 


6  Beecher. 


212 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


these  may  be  o-athereJ  from  your  trade;  they  are  not  uncertain 
riches,  but  imperishable,  undefiled,  and  they  fade  not  away.' 

Progress,  in  the  sense  of  acquisition,  is  something;  but  pro- 
gress, in  the  sense  of  being,  is  a  great  deal  more.  To  grow 
higher,  deeper,  wider,  as  the  years  go  on;  to  conquer  diffi- 
culties, and  acquire  more  and  more  power;  to  feel  all  one's 
faculties  unfolding,  and  truth  descending  into  the  soul— this 
makes  life  worth  living.^' 

AVhoso  acts  a  hundred  times  with  high  moral  principle  before 
he  speaks  once  of  it,  that  is  a  man  whom  one  could  bless  and 
clasp  to  one's  heart.  I  am  far  from  saying  that  he  is  on  that 
account  free  from  faults,  but  the  plus  ct  minus,  the  degree  of 
striving  after  perfection  and  virtue,  determines  the  value  of  the 

3 


man. 


Character  is  the  culminating  substance  of  nature;  and  we  may 
sav  here  that  a  man  may  bo  what  he  pleases  to  be.  The  forms 
of  our  activity  are  prescribed  for  us  l)y  nature,  but  circumstances 
do  not  make  the  real,  central  man.  Circumstances  often  deter- 
mine how  much  show  a  man  shall  make.  To  be  famous  depends 
on  some  fortuities;  to  be  a  president  depends  on  the  acute 
smellers  of  a  few  politicians  and  a  mysterious  set  of  wires ;  to  be 
rich  depends  on  birth  or  luck ;  to  be  intellectually  eminent  may 
depend  on  the  appointment  of  Providence  ;  but  to  be  a  man,  in 
the  sense  of  substance,  depends  solely  on  one's  own  noble  am- 
bition and  determination  to  live  in  contact  with  God's  open 
atmosphere  of  truth  and  right,  from  which  all  true  manliness  is 
inspired  and  fed."* 

A  cultivated  man,  wise  to  know  and  bold  to  perform,  is  the 
end  to  which  nature  works.^ 

In  ordinary,  average,  respectable   English  life,  many  people 
strive  to  be  virtuous  and  good,  not  for  the  sake  of  virtue  and 


1  Parker. 


2  Clarke. 


3  George  Forster. 


'King. 


6  Emerson. 


ENDS. 


213 


goodness,  but  on  account  of  the  presgu-e  of  public  opinion 
brought  to  bear  upon  them.  Men  live  in  the  full  glare  of  a 
mutually  destructive  criticism.  They  accommodate  their  actions 
to  a  certain  semblance  and  standard.  They  may  gain  influence, 
but  may  not  attain  to  virtue ;  they  may  gain  the  respect  of 
others,  but  hardly  their  own  respect.  The  man  who  does  well 
in  deference  to  the  current  opinion  of  his  class,  the  standard  of 
conduct  among  his  friends,  must  always  be  haunted  by  the  un- 
happy suspicion  of  hypocrisy,  and  must  be  liable  to  fall  back 
into  the  very  contrary  of  his  professions  whenever  the  exterior 
pressure  is  withdrawn.  Let  the  incubus  be  removed,  and  there 
is  a  rebound  of  the  spring ;  the  character  reverts  to  its  natural 
type.  But  to  desire  to  do  well  because  our  life  is  linked  with 
the  divine  life,  and  we  seek  to  be  the  children  of  our  Father  in 
heaven,  must  be  a  well-spring  of  joy,  and  a  source  of  the  purest 
delight.  "  From  3Ie  is  thy  fruit  found !"  "All  my  fresh  springs 
shall  be  in  Thee!"^ 

Thought,  intelligence,  is  the  dignity  of  a  man,  and  no  man  is 
rising  but  in  proportion  as  he  is  learning  to  think  clearly  and 
forcibly,  or  directing  the  energy  of  his  mind  to  the  acquisition  of 
truth.  Every  man,  in  whatsoever  condition,  is  to  be  a  student. 
No  matter  what  other  vocation  he  may  have,  his  chief  vocation  is 
toThink.2 

Am  I  asked  for  my  conception  of  the  dignity  of  a  human 
being?  I  should  say  that  it  consists,  first,  in  that  spiritual  prin- 
ciple, called  sometimes  the  Reason,  sometimes  the  Conscience, 
which,  rising  above  what  is  local  and  temporary,  discerns  immu- 
table truth  and  everlasting  right ;  which,  in  the  midst  of  imper- 
fect things,  conceives  of  Perfection;  which  is  universal  and 
impartial,  standing  in  direct  opposition  to  the  partial,  selfish 
principles  of  human  nature;  which  says  to  me  with  authority, 


J  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


2  Channing. 


214 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


<► 


ENDS. 


215 


that  mv  neiirlibor  is  as  precious  as  mvself,  and  his  rights  as  sacred 
as  mv  own  ;  which  coninitjncls  me  to  receive  all  truth,  however  it 
may  war  Avith  my  pride,  and  to  do  all  justice,  however  it  may 
conflict  Avith  my  interest;  and  which  calls  me  to  rejoice  with 
love  in  all  that  is  beautiful,  good,  holy,  happy,  in  whatever  being 
these  attributes  may  1)e  found.^ 

Man  has  a  mind  as  well  as  a  body,  and  this  he  ought  to  know ; 
and,  till  he  knows  it,  feels  it,  and  is  deeply  penetrated  by  it,  he 
knows  nothing  aright.  His  body  should,  in  a  sense,  vanish  away 
before  his  mind  ;  or,  in  the  language  of  Christ,  he  should  hate 
his  animal  life  in  comparison  with  the  intellectual  and  moral  life 
which  is  to  endure  forever.  This  doctrine,  however,  is  pro- 
nounced too  refined.  Useful  and  practical  truth,  according  to  its 
most  improved  expositors,  consists  in  knowing  that  Ave  have  an 
animal  nature,  and  in  making  this  our  chief  care ;  in  knowing 
that  we  luiA^e  mouths  to  be  filled  and  limbs  to  be  clothed;  that 
Ave  live  on  the  earth,  Avhich  it  is  our  business  to  till ;  that  we 
have  a  power  of  accumulating  Avealth,  and  that  this  power  is  the 
measure  of  the  greatness  of  the  community  !  For  such  doctrines 
I  have  no  respect.  I  know  no  Avisdom  but  that  which  reveals 
man  to  himself,  and  which  teaches  him  to  regard  all  social  insti- 
tutions, and  his  whole  life,  as  the  means  of  unfolding  and  exalt- 
ing the  spirit  Avithin  him.  All  i)oliey  Avhich  does  not  recognize 
this  truth  seems  to  me  shalloAv.^ 

^yhat  is  the  chief  good  for  man  as  man  f  .  .  .  It  must 
consist  in  perfect  activity  in  Avell-doing,  and  especially  in  contem- 
plative thought,  or,  as  Aristotle  defines  it,  ^^  It  is  a  perfect  prac- 
tical activity  in  a  perfect  life.^^  His  conception  of  the  chief  good 
has  thus  tAA'o  sides — one  internal :  that  Avhich  exists  in  and  for  the 
consciousness,  a  "complete  and  perfect  life;^'  the  other  exter- 
nal and  practical.     The  latter,  hoAvever,  is  a  means  to  the  former. 


Channing. 


2  Ibid. 


That  complete  and  perfect  life  is  the  complete  satisfaction 
and  perfection  of  our  rational  nature.  It  is  a  state  of  peace 
AA'hich  is  the  croAvn  of  exertion.  It  is  the  realization  of  the 
divine  in  man,  and  constitutes  the  absolute  and  all-sufficient 
happiness.^ 

To  the  mass  of  men,  as  a  rule,  enjoyment  will  come  if  avc  fulfill  . 
the  laws  of  our  Being ;  but  it  Avas  not  for  this  alone,  nor  for  this 
first,  that  Life  w^as  given.  If  we  set  it  before  us  as  our  chief 
object — if  Ave  pursue  it  Avith  conscious  and  relentless  purpose — 
still  more,  if  we  seek  it  by  any  short  cuts  or  private  })athAvays 
of  our  oAvn,  or  by  any  road  save  that  by  Avhich  Providence  has 
prescribed  Avithout  engaging  that  it  shall  lead  to  any  special  or 
certain  goal  on  earth,  avc  may,  or  avc  may  not,  be  happv ;  but 
assuredlv  avc  shall  have  failed  in  carrvino;  out  a  further  desiirn 
of  the  Creator — at  least  as  indisputable  as  the  first — namely: 
The  Moral  Progress  and  Perfection  of  the  Individual  and  the  Race. 
The  Cup  of  Life  Avhich  God  offers  to  our  lips  is  not 
alAA'ays  SAveet.  It  is  an  uuAvorthy  Aveakness  to  endeaA^or  to 
persuade  ourselves  of  such  a  fiilsehood ;  but,  SAvcet  or  bitter,  it 
is  ours  to  drink  it  Avithout  murmur  or  demur.  .  .  .  The 
progress  of  humanity,  the  improvement  of  the  Avorld,  the  miti- 
gation of  its  anomalies,  the  extinction  of  its  woes,  the  eradication 
of  its  Alices — in  a  Avord,  the  realization  of  the  ideal  of  life — is  the 
great  design  of  God  and  the  great  AA^ork  of  man.  But  though 
the  perfectation  of  the  Race  is  the  great,  it  is  clear  that  it  is  not 
the  sole,  purpose  or  significance  of  life.  The  perfectation  of  the 
Individual  is  indicated  by  marks  just  as  obvious.  We  are  sent 
here  and  cndoAved  thus,  not  only  to  do  our  utmost  for  the 
improvement  and  progress  of  the  AA'orld,  but  to  do  our  utmost, 
also,  for  the  development,  utilization,  purification,  and  strength- 
ening of  our  OAvn  individual  natures.^ 


1  Cocker. 


Greg. 


\ 


216 


MAN   AND   III3    RELATIONS. 


ENDS. 


217 


The  mo^t  fiiiulamentiil  niistuke  men  make  is  in  not  recognizing 
the  breadth  of  their  nature,  and  a  consequent  working  of  some 
single  part  of  it.  One  must  give  phiy  to  his  whole  nature  and 
fill  out  all  his  relations,  or  he  Avill  have  a  poor  ending.  He 
must  heed  the  social,  domestic,  and  religious  elements  of  his 
bein^^  as  well  as  the  sino-le  one  that  yields  him  a  fortune.  These 
should  be  embraced  under  a  purpose  as  clear  and  strong  as  that 
which  leads  to  wealth,  and  be  cherished,  not  out  of  a  bare  sense 
of  duty,  but  for  manly  completeness.  The  most  pitiable  sight 
one  ever  sees  is  a  young  man  doing  nothing ;  the  furies  early 
drag  him  to  his  doom.  Hardly  less  pitiable  is  a  young  man 
doinir  but  one  thin<r — his  whole  being  centered  on  money  or 
fame;  forgetful  of  the  broad  world  of  intellectual  capacity  within 
him,  of  the  broader  and  sweeter  world  of  social  and  domestic 
life,  and  of  the  infinite  world  of  the  spirit  that  inspires  him  on 
everv  side  and  holds  his  destinies,  Avhether  he  knows  it  or  not. 
It  is  not  only  (piite  possible,  but  an  ea.sy  and  natural  thing,  for 
a  vouno;  man  fronting  life  to  sav,  I  will  make  the  most  of  myself; 
I  will  recognize  my  whole  nature  ;  I  will  neglect  no  duty  that 
belongs  to  all  men;  I  Avill  carry  along  with  an  even  and  just 
hand  those  relations  that  make  up  a  full  manhood.^ 

It  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  build  a  ship  so  that  it  looks 
beautiful  as  it  stands  on  the  stocks.  AVhat  though  a  man  build 
his  vessel  so  trim  and  graceful  that  all  admire  it,  if,  when  she 
comes  to  be  launched,  she  is  not  fit  fi)r  the  sea,  if  she  can  not 
stand  stormy  weather,  if  she  Is  a  slow  sailer  and  a  poor  carrier, 
if  she  is  liable  to  founder  on  the  voyage  ?  A  ship,  however 
pretty  she  may  be,  is  not  good  for  anything  unless  she  can  battle 
with  the  deep.  That  is  the  place  to  test  her.  All  her  fine  lines 
and  grace  and  beauty  are  of  no  account  if  she  fails  there.  It 
makes  no  diiference  how  splendidly  you  build,  so  far  as  this 


^ 

#    N 


1  Munger. 


t 


i 


world  is  concerned,  your  life  is  a  failure  unless  you  build  so 
that  you  can  go  out  into  the  great  future  on  the  eternal  sea  of 
life.  We  are  to  live  on.  We  are  not  to  live  again,  but  we  are 
to  live  without  break.  Death  is  not  an  end.  It  is  a  new  im- 
j^ulse.  AVe  are  discharged  out  of  this  life,  where  we  have  been 
like  arrows  in  a  quiver.  Death  is  a  bow  which  sends  us  shoot- 
ing far  beyond  this  earthly  experience  into  another  and  a  higher 
life.  Woe  be  to  that  man  who  is  rich  for  this  world  and  bank- 
rupt for  the  other.  Woe  be  to  that  man  who  so  lives  here  that 
he  will  have  nothing  hereafter.  Woe  be  to  that  man  who,  when 
he  dies,  leaves  everything  behind  him  for  which  he  has  spent  all 
the  energies  of  his  life.  Woe  be  to  that  man  who  so  uses  this 
world  that  it  makes  him  useless  for  the  world  to  come.  Heart- 
life,  soul-life,  hope,  joy,  and  love  are  true  riches.  Such  riches  a 
man  will  carry  through  the  grave  with  him.  No  man  can  take 
his  house,  nor  his  merchandise,  nor  his  ships  with  him  when  he 
dies.  A  man's  books,  his  fame,  his  political  influence,  his  phys- 
ical enjoyment,  his  granary,  his  farm,  his  team,  his  loaded  wain — 
these  things  stop  on  this  side  of  the  grave.  The  gate  of  death 
is  not  big  enough  to  let  them  through.  Nobody  carries  his  body 
through  the  grave.^ 

How  seldom,  friends,  a  good  great  man  inherits 

Honor  or  wealth  with  all  his  worth  and  pains ! 

It  sounds  like  stories  from  the  land  of  spirits, 

If  any  man  obtain  that  which  he  merits, 

Or  any  merit  that  which  he  obtains — 

For  shame,  dear  friends,  renounce  this  canting  strain ; 

What  wouldst  thou  have  a  good  great  man  obtain  ? 

Place,  titles,  salary,  a  gilded  chain  ? 

Or  throne  of  corses  which  his  sword  has  slain  ? 

Greatness  and  goodness  are  not  means,  but  eruh: 

Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends, 

1  Beeclier. 


218 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ENDS. 


219 


The  good  great  man  ?  —  three  treasures,  Love  and  Light^ 
And  Calm  Thoughts  reguhir  as  infants'  breath ; 
And  three  firm  friends,  moresuie  than  day  and  night, 
ITunself,  liis  Maker,  and  the  angel  Death.? 

Higher  and  Lower. — Mental  pleasures  never  cloy  :  unlike 
those  of  the  body,  they  are  increased  by  repetition,  approved  of 
by  reflection,  a-.ul  strengthened  by  enjoyment.- 

Pleasures  of  the  mind  are  more  at  command  than  those  of  the 
bodv.  A  man  mav  tliink  of  a  handsome  performance,  or  of  a 
notion  that  pleases  him,  at  his  leisure.  This  entertainment  is 
ready  with  little  warning  or  expense ;  a  short  recollection  brings 
it  upon  the  stage,  brightens  the  idea,  and  makes  it  shine  as  much 
as  when  it  was  first  stamped  upon  the  memory.^ 

Lowest  of  all  men  are  they  who  live  only  to  gratify  their 
senses ;  higher  are  thev  who  have  pleasure  in  art  and  nature  and 
science  ;  higher  yet  they  who  rejoice  in  deeds  of  simple  kindliness, 
and  loathe  all  envy  and  calumny  and  hate ;  highest  of  all  they 
who  live  in  the  faith  of  eternal  thoughts,  and  are  ready  to  pour 
out  their  very  lives  as  a  sacrifice,  if  so  they  may  inspire  others 
with  the  same  holy  and  everlasting  faith .^ 

It  is  worth  our  while  to  think  for  a  moment  as  to  the  produc- 
tiveness in  pleasure  of  the  different  parts  of  the  soul.  All  of 
them  are  more  or  less  productive  of  pleasure.  I  do  not  say  that 
there  is  no  pleasure  in  lower  forms  of  indulgence.  A  glutton 
has  pleasure,  or  he  would  not  be  a  glutton.  It  would  be  absurd 
to  sav  that  there  is  an  effect  without  a  cause.  There  is  a  ])leas- 
urc  in  getting  drunk,  I  suppose.  There  is  a  pleasure  which  the 
miser  feels.  There  is  a  pleasure  which  the  envious  man  feels. 
There  is  rejoicing  in  iniquity.  Wrong-doing  confers  a  certain 
sort  of  pleasure.  Every  part  of  the  nature  of  man  has  its  own 
mode  of  pleasure. 


I 

1^ 


w 


7 


Coleridge. 


sColton. 


3  Jeremy  Collier. 


*  Farrar. 


) 


It  is  not  ncccssarv  to  the  exaltation  of  moralitv,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  the  making  of  religion  attractive,  to  undertake  to 
say  that  nobody  can  be  happy  unless  he  is  a  religious  man. 
That  is  not  true.  A  great  many  religious  men  are  not  happy, 
and  a  great  many  irreligious  men  are  happy.  To  say  that  a  man 
can  enjoy  more  in  a  religious  life  than  he  can  in  a  lower  life,  is  to 
say  the  truth,  although  it  is  not  everybody  that  finds  it  out.  My 
impression  is  that,  in  a  general  way,  that  part  of  our  nature 
which  comes  in  contact  with  the  physical,  and  controls  it,  has 
the  most  sudden  and  the  most  sharj)  exhilaration  of  pleasure, 
but  the  briefest.  The  flavor  passes  from  the  tongue,  and  is 
gone.  All  physical  pleasures  are  momentary,  however  intense 
they  may  be,  and  there  is  very  little  memory  of  them.  And 
.although  these  very  pleasures  are  real,  they  are  shallow  and 
unstable.  .  .  .  Next  to  these,  men  think,  are  the  better 
forms  of  social  intercourse.  These  certainly  are  higher  elements 
of  pleasure  than  those  which  we  have  just  been  considering — 
higher  in  this  regard,  that  each  particular  emotion,  though 
milder,  has  greater  continuity.  Social  pleasures  bring  self- 
respect  ;  they  bring  out  a  sense  of  kindness  and  benevolence ; 
they  diffuse  a  higher  influence  through  the  mind  than  mere 
physical  pleasures  do.  They  develop  a  new  atmosphere  in  us, 
so  that,  although  they  may  not  be  so  intense  as  physical  pleas- 
ures, they  are  more  conducive  to  enjoyment.  The  flavor  may 
not  be  so  pungent,  but  the  sum  of  the  happiness  which  we  derive 
from  them  is  very  much  greater. 

Then  we  come  to  a  still  higher  form  of  pleasures — those 
derived  from  semi-moral  faculties — where  we  become  executive, 
creative,  and  fashion  things  in  life,  exercising  power  and  skill, 
and  that  for  kind  and  benevolent  purposes.  A  peculiar  sensa- 
tion of  pleasure   proceeds   from   this   source.     Where  there  is 


^K 


220 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ENDS. 


221 


development  aud  activity  of  the  higher  range  of  faculties  for 
noble  purposes,  it  is  as  if  an  angel  touched  us.  There  is  more 
joy  in  a  simple  hour  of  such  activity  than  there  is  in  days  of 
the  lower  forms  of  delight. 

But  a  man  does  not  touch  his  supremest  happiness  until 
he  is  thorouffhlv  spiritualized,  until  he  inhabits  the  whole  liigher 
rano-e  of  his  bein^r — that  part  of  the  soul  which  came  from  God, 
and  touches  God  again,  and  which  receives  the  immediate  in- 
spiration of  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  which  every  other  part  of  his 
nature  is  held  in  control  and  warmed  and  illumined.  In  that 
hitdier  range  the  pleasure  is  ecstatic,  not  boisterous ;  not  demon- 
strative, not  taking  on  the  forms  that  flash  and  emit  sparks,  but 
peaceful,  inward,  unutterable  thoughts  of  the  highest  possibilities 

in  life. 

Connected  with  this  last  form  of  pleasure  there  is  no  after 
pain.     It  is  wine  which  one  may  drink  to  the  very  bottom.     It 
brings  neither  intoxication  at  the  present  nor  pang  afterward. 
The  highest  joy  lies  in  the  plenary  inspiration  of  the  highest 
feelings  of  the  soul.     .     .     .     Not  only  are  the  lower  forms  of 
pleasure  more  evanescent  than  the  higher  forms,  but  that,  while 
they  are  strong  at  the  beginning  of  life,  they  decrease  in  power 
to  the  end  ;  whereas,  the  pleasures  which  we  derive  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  mind,  while  they  are  the  smallest  at  the  begin- 
ning of  life,  continually  increase   all  the   way  through.      The 
wedge  is  reversed.     Animal,  physical  pleasures  begin  large  and 
attractive,  but  run  tapering  to  an  edge,  and  die  out  by  the  time 
one  becomes  reasonably  old.     When  the  health  begins  to  fail, 
and  the  eye  begins  to  grow  dim,  and  the  ear  is  heavy  of  hearing, 
and  the  foot  is  weary  of  moving,  and  the  muscles  are  softening, 
and  the  nerves  do  not  know  any  more  how  to  vibrate  and  flash 
fire  as  once  they  did,  then  it  is  that  these  pleasures  abandon  a 


1 


I 


s 


man.  As  one  grows  old  he  finds  that  physical  pleasures  forsake 
him  •  and  if  his  only  dependence  for  happiness  has  been  upon 
these  his  after  life  is  poor  and  miserable.  But  he  who  does  not 
sacrifice  higher  physical  pleasures  to  low,  sensuous  pleasures 
has  sources  of  enjoyment  which  go  on  w'ith  him  to  the  end 

of  life.^ 

Things  that  only  help  us  to  exist  are,  in  a  secondary  and  mean 
sense,  useful ;  or  rather,  if  they  be  looked  for  alone,  they  are 
useless,  and  w^orse,  for  it  would  be  better  that  w^e  should  not 
exist  than  that  we  should  guiltily  disappoint  the  purposes  of 

existence. 

And  yet  people  speak  In  this  working  age,  when  they  speak 
from  their  hearts,  as  if  houses  and  lands,  and  food  and  raiment, 
were  alone  useful,  and  as  if  sight,  thought,  and  admiration  were 
all  profitless,  so  that  men  insolently  call  themselves  utilitarians, 
who  would  turn,  if  they  had  their  way,  themselves  and  their 
race  into  vegetables;  men  who  think,  as  far  as  such  can  be  said 
to  think,  that  the  meat  is  more  than  the  life,  and  the  raiment 
than  the  bodv,  who  look  to  the  earth  as  a  stable,  and  to  its  fruits 
as  fodder;  vinedressers  and  husbandmen,  who  love  the  corn  they 
grind,  and  the  grapes  they  crush,  better  than  the  gardens  of  the 
ano-els  upon  the  slopes  of  Eden  ;  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
of  water,  w^ho  think  that  it  is  to  give  them  wood  to  hew,  and 
water  to  draw,  that  the  pine-forests  cover  the  mountains  like 
the  shadow  of  God,  and  the  great  rivers  move  like  His  eternity. 
And  so  come  upon  us  that  woe  of  the  preacher,  that,  though  God 
"  hath  made  everything  beautiful  in  his  time,  also  He  hath  set 
the  world  in  their  heart,  so  that  no  man  can  find  out  the  work 
that  God  makcth  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.'' 

This  Nebuchadnezzar  curse,  that  sends  men  to  grass  like  oxen, 
seems  to  follow^  but  too  closely  on  the  excess  or  continuance  cf 

1  Beecher. 


009 

^^^ 


MAN   AND   m3   RELATIONS. 


national  power  and  peace.     In  the  perplexities  of  nations,  in 
their  struggles  for  existence,  in  their  inflmcy,  their  impotence, 
or  even  their  disorganization,  they  have  higher  hopes  and  nobler 
passions.     Out  of  the  suffering  comes  the  serious  mind;  out  of 
the  salvation,  the  grateful  heart ;  out  of  endurance,  fortitude  ; 
out  of  deliverance,  faith.     But  when  they  have  learned  to  live 
under  providence  of  laws,  and  with  decency  and  justice  of  regard 
for  each  other,  and  when  they  have  done  away  with  violent  and 
external  sources  of  suflcring,  worse  evils  seem  to  arise  out  of 
their  rest — evils  that  vex  less  and  mortify  more;  that  suck  the 
blood,  thou-rh  thev  do  not  shed  it,  and  ossifv  the  heart,  though 
they  do  not  torture  it.     And  deep  though  the  causes  of  thankful- 
ness must  be  to  every  people  at  peace  with  others  and  at  unity 
in  itself,  there  are  causes  of  fear,  also — a  fear  greater  than  of 
sword  and  sedition— that  dependence  on  God  may  be  forgotten, 
because  the  bread  is  given  and  the  water  sure ;  that  gratitude  to 
Him  m;iy  cease,  because  His  constancy  of  protection  has  taken 
the  semblance  of  a  natural  law ;  that  heavenly  hope  may  grow 
faint  amidst  the  full  fruition  of  the  Avorld ;  that  selfishness  may 
take  the  place  of  undemanded  devotion,  compassion  be  lost  in 
vain-irlorv  and  love  in  dissimulation  ;  that  enervation  may  sue- 
ceed  to  strength,  apathy  to  patience,  and  the  noise  of  jesting 
words  and  foulness  of  dark  thoughts  to  the  earnest  purity  of  the 
girded  loins  and  the  burning  lamp.     About  the  river  of  human 
life  there  is  a  wintry  wind,  though  a  heavenly  sunshine;  the  iris 
colors  its  agitation,  the  frost  fixes  upon  its  repose.     Let  us  beware 
that  our  rest  become  not  the  rest  of  stones,  which,  so  long  as 
thev   are   torrent-tossed   and   thunder-stricken,    maintain   their 
majesty,  but  when  the  stream  is  silent,  and  the  storm  passed, 
suffer  the  grass  to  cover  them  and  the  lichen  to  feed  on  them, 
and  are  plowed  down  into  dust.^ 


1  Ruskin. 


ENDS. 


223 


Gradually,  thinking  on  from  point  to  point,  we  shall  come  to 
perceive  that  all  true  happiness  and  nobleness  are  near  us,  and 
yet  neglected  by  us,  and  that  till  we  have  learned  how  to  be 
happy  and  noble,  we  have  not  much  to  tell,  even  to  Eed  Indians. 
The  delights  of  horse-racing  and  hunting,  of  assemblies  in  the 
night  instead  of  the  day,  of  costly  and  wearisome  music,  of  costly 
and  burdensome  dress,   of  chagrined  contention   for  place,  or 
power,  or  wealth,  or  the  eyes  of  the  multitude ;  and  all  the  end- 
less occupation  without  purpose,  and  idleness  without  rest,  of 
our  vulgar  world,  are  not,  it  seems  to  me,  enjoyments  we  need 
be  ambitious  to   communicate.     And  all    real    and  wholesome 
enjoyments  possible  to  man  have  been  just  as  possible  to  him, 
since  first  he  was  made  of  the  earth,  as  they  are  now ;  and  they 
are  possible  to  him  chiefly  in  peace.     To  watch  the  corn  grow 
and  the  blossoms  set ;  to  draw  hard  breath  over  plowshare  or 
spade ;  to  read,  to  think,  to  love,  to  hope,  to  pray — these  are 
the  things  that  make  men  happy.     They  have  always  had  the 
power  of  doing  these  ;  they  never  will  have  power  to  do  more. 
The  w^orld's  prosperity  or  adversity  depends  upon  our  knowing 
and  teaching  these  few  things,  but  upon  iron,  or  glass,  or  elec- 
tricity, or  steam,  in  no  w^ise.     And  I  am  Utopian  and  enthusi- 
astic enough  to  believe  that  the  time  will  come  when  the  world 
will  discover  this.     It  has  now  made  its  experiments  in  every 
possible  direction  but  the  right  one,  and  it  seems  that  it  must, 
at  last,  try  the  right  one  in  a  mathematical  necessity.^ 

Essentials  of  Life. — With  respect  to  any  final  aim  or  end, 
the  greater  part  of  mankind  live  at  hazard.  They  have  no  cer- 
tain harbor  in  viev/,  nor  direct  their  course  by  any  fixed  star. 
But  to  him  that  knoweth  not  the  port  to  w^hich  he  is  bound,  no 
wind  can  be  favorable ;  neither  can  he,  who  has  not  yet  deter- 
mined at  what  mark  he  is  to  shoot,  direct  his  arrow  aright.^ 


1  Ibid. 


2  Coleridge. 


4t] 


221 


MAN   AND   nrs   TxELATIONS. 


ENDS. 


225 


A  sacred  burden  is  the  life  ye  bear, 
Look  on  It,  lift  it,  bear  it  solemnly, 
Stand  up  and  walk  beneath  it  steadfastly. 
Fail  not  for  sorrow,  falter  not  for  sin, 
But  onward,  upward,  till  the  goal  ye  win.^ 

This  Is  certain — that  men  exclusively  occupied  either  in  spir- 
itual reverie,  mechanical  destruction,  or  mechanical  productive- 
ness, fall  below  the  proper  standard  of  their  race,  and  enter  into 
a  lower  form  of  being;  and  that  the  true  perfection  of  the  race, 
and,  therefore,  its  power  and  happiness,  is  only  to  be  attained 
by  a  life  which  is  neither  speculative  nor  productive,  but  essen- 
tially contemplative  and  protective,  which  (A)  does  not  lose  itself 
in  the  monk's  vision  or  hopo,  but  delights  in  seeing  present  and 
real  things  as  they  truly  are;  which  (B)  does  not  mortify  itself 
for  the  sake  of  obtaining  powers  of  destruction,  but  seeks  the 
more  easily  attainable  powers  of  affection,  observance  and  pro- 
tection ;  wliich  (C),  finally,  does  not  mortify  itself  with  a  view  to 
productive  accumulation,  but  delights  itself  in  peace,  with  its 
appointed  portion.  So  that  the  things  to  be  desired  fur  man  \ii 
a  healthy  state  are  that  he  should  not  see  dreams,  but  realities; 
that  he  should  not  destroy  life,  but  save  it;  and  that  he  should 
be  not  rich,  but  content.^ 

Trust  in  tha  Lord  with  all  thine  heart,  and  lean  not  unto  thine 
own  understanding.  In  all  thv  wavs  acknowledn:e  Him,  and  He 
shall  direct  thy  paths.  Be  not  wise  in  thine  own  eyes ;  fear  the 
Lord,  and  depart  from  evil.  It  shall  be  liealth  to  thv  navel 
and  marrow  to  thy  bones,  liouor  the  Lnid  with  thy  substance, 
and  with  the  first-fruits  of  all  thy  increase;  so  shall  thy  barns 
be  filled  with  plenty,  and  thy  presses  shall  burst  out  with  new 
wine.  My  son,  despise  not  the  chastening  of  the  Lord,  neither 
be  weary  of  His  correction;   for  whom  the  Lord  loveth  He  cor- 


'.:% 


fik 


recteth,  even  as  a  father  the  son  in  whom  he  dclighteth.  Happy 
is  the  man  that  findeth  wisdom  and  the  man  that  fj-atteth  under- 
standing;  for  the  merchandise  of  it  is  better  than  the  merchan- 
dise of  silver,  and  the  gain  thereof  than  fine  gold.  She  is  more 
precious  than  rubies;  and  all  the  things  thou  canst  desire  are 
not  to  be  compared  unto  her.  Length  of  days  is  in  her  right 
hand,  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  honor.  Her  wavs  are 
ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.  She  is  a  tree 
of  life  to  them  that  lay  hold  upon  her,  and  happy  is  every  one 
that  retaineth  her.^ 

"  What  shall  I  do  lest  life  in  silence  pass?" 

And  If  it  do, 
And  never  prompt  the  bray  of  noisy  brass, 

What  need'st  thou  rue? 
Remember  aye  the  ocean  deeps  are  mute ; 

The  sliallows  roar; 
Worth  is  the  ocean — Fame  is  the  bruit 

Along  the  shore. 

"What  shall  I  do  to  be  forever  known?" 

Thy  duty  ever! 
"This  did  full  many  who  yef  sleep  unknown  " — 
Oh  I  never,  never  ! 
Think'st  thou  perchance  that  they  remain  unknown 

Whom  thou  know'st  not  ? 
By  angel  trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is'blown, 
Divine  their  lot. 

"  What  shall  I  do  to  gain  eternal  life  ? 

Discharge  aright 
The  simple  dues  with  which  each  day  is  rife?" 

Yea,  with  tliv  miaht. 
Ere  perfect  scheme  of  action  thou  devise, 

Will  life  be  fled, 
While  he  who  ever  acts  as  conscience  cries 

Shall  live,  thougli  dead.' 


1  Frances  Anne  Kemble. 


16 


2  Ruskin. 


>  Bible. 


■  Schiller. 


mm0'y<^s?^-*'«'^'«T"»^^??T 


226 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


(( 


Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star,"  sav^  Eniorson.  The  end  of  a 
moral  beino*  is,  not  food  or  raiment,  or  estate,  but  soul-expan- 
sion; and  the  parent  of  all  noblest  improvement  is  love  —  the 
outflow  of  desire  toward  the  true,  beautiful,  and  good  which 
exists  in  thought,  action,  or  person  not  our  own.  Whoever  acts 
admirably  upon  the  imagination  administers  to  this  effect. 
Whoever  gives  the  w^orld  a  ]>ictorial  air  contributes  to  our 
emancipation.  Whoever  makes  us  more  intensely  and  com- 
prehensively imaginative  exalts  us  into  the  possession  of  incor- 
ruptible goods.  Tn  vn'n  will  plnlo-^opliv  ;uni  fa-liif^-n  a!i<l 
litiiltarianisni  appose  such  a  "in.  Tliey  fare  as  servants;  he 
sonirbt  a.fti-r  an. I  entertaiii'^l  a-  an  an-d.  The  ages  esteem 
visions  more  than  bread. ^ 

1  Welch's  "  Development  of  English  Literature  and  Language." 


1) 


;l 


T 


/ 


i 


CIHiAiRLE-3     eSOKEM 


t 

^ 


CHAPTER    V. 


r 


4 


.'*■ 


MEANS. 

With  most  men  life  is  like  backgammon,  half  skill  and  half  luck.  —  Holmes. 

IN  order  to  do  anything  in  this  world  that  is  worth  doing, 
we  must  not  stand  shivering  on  the  bank,  and  thinking  of 
the  cold  and  the  danger,  but  jump  in  and  scramble  through  as 
.  well  IS  we  can.  It  will  not  do  to  be  perpetually  calculating  and 
adjusting  nice  chances;  it  did  all  very  well  before  the  Flood, 
when  a  man  could  consult  his  friends  upon  an  intended  publica- 
tion for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  then  live  to  see  its  suc- 
cess for  six  or  seven  centuries  afterward ;  but  at  present  a  man 
waits,  and  doubts,  and  hesitates,  and  consults  his  brother, 
and  his  uncle,  and  his  first  cousins,  and  his  particular  friends, 
till  one  day  he  finds  that  he  is  sixty-five  years  of  age— that 
he  has  lost  so  much  time  in  consulting  first  cousins  and 
particular  friends  that  he  has  no  more  time  left  to  follow 
their  advice.^ 

A  great  general  is,  according  to  Napoleon,  to  be  distinguished 
from  an  inferior  one  by  always  being  a  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
forehand. It  is  by  that  little  quarter  of  an  honr  that  the  battles 
have  ever  been  won.  When  once  the  mind  is  made  up,  the  best 
way  is  to  act  at  once.  Promptitude,  readiness,  quickness,  is, 
after  all,  as  efficient  as  anything,  and  should  ahvays  be  urged  as 
an  essential  to  thorough  efficiency.     When  once  anything  has 

(227) 
1  Sydney  Smith. 


11 1 


228 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


been  brought  to  a  proper  and  a  clearly  defined  shape,  the  best 
way  is  "to  go  in  and  win/^  If  you  wait,  you  will  find  reflection 
come  upon  you,  and  check  your  horse  at  the  leap;  if  you  do  the 
thing  at  once,  you  will  succeed.  A  well-known  newspaper  pro- 
jector and  proprietor  had  an  idea  brought  to  him  by  a  man  who 
was  not  rich  enough  to  bring  the  paper  out  himself.  It  is  the 
rule  of  the  world  that  almost  all  the  discoverers  and  inventors 
have  not  sufficient  capital  to  float  their  discoveries;  and  so  it  was 
with  our  poor  projector,  who  urged  his  capital  idea  on  the 
capitalist  with  all  the  determination  he  could.  However,  the 
man  with  the  money  required  time  to  think  and  to  feel  the  pulse 
of  the  public.  Would  the  public  care  about  a  comic  paper? 
Would  there  be  enough  people  to  buy  it?  Would  there  be 
enough  comic  talent  to  support  it  ?  All  these  questions  took  a 
long  time  to  settle ;  but  at  last  the  gentleman  made  up  his  mind 
that  the  notion  was  a  capital  one,  and  that  he  would  embark  in 
it.  He  went  therefore  in  a  hurry  along  the  Strand  to  the 
Stationers'  Hall  to  register  the  idea,  and  met  a  man  carrying  a 
placard  announcing  the  publication  of  "  Punch,"  a  new  comic 
serial,  to  be  published  every  week !  That  was  the  very  publica- 
tion which  he  wished  to  register ;  but  it  had  passed  cut  of  his 
hands  forever  I  ^ 

It  is  a  poor  and  disgraceful  thing  not  to  be  able  to  reply,  with 
some  degree  of  certainty,  to  the  simple  questions,  What  will 
you  be?  What  will  you  do?  A  little  acquaintance  with  man- 
kind will  supply  numberless  illustrations  of  the  importance  of 
this  qualification.  You  will  often  see  a  person  anxiously  hesi- 
tating a  long  time  between  diflerent,  or  opposite  determinations, 
though  impatient  of  the  pain  of  such  a  state,  and  ashamed  of 
the  debility.  A  faint  impulse  of  preference  alternates  toward 
the  one,  and  toward  the  other;  and  the  mind,  while  thus  held 


t 


* 
w 


\ 


•1 


MEANS. 


229 


in  a  trembling  balance,  is  vexed  tliat  it  can  not  get  some  new 
thought,  or  feeling,  or  motive ;  that  it  has  not  more  sense,  more 
resolution,  more  of  anything  that  would  save  it  from  envying 
even  the  decisive  instinct  of  brutes.  It  wishes  that  any  circum- 
stance might  happen,  or  any  person  might  appear,  that  could 
deliver  it  from  the  miserable  suspense.  ...  It  must  have 
cost  Caesar  many  anxious  hours  of  deliberation  before  he  decided 
to  pass  the  Rubicon ;  but  it  is  probable  he  suffered  but  few  to 
elapse  between  the  decision  and  the  execution.  And  any  one 
of  his  friends,  who  should  have  been  ajiprised  of  his  determina- 
tion, and  understood  his  character,  would  have  smiled  con- 
temptuously  to  hear  it  insinuated  that,  though  Caesar  had 
resolved,  Caesar  would  not  dare ;  or  that,  though  he  might  cross 
the  Rubicon,  whose  opposite  bank  presented  to  him  no  hostile 
Icirions,  he  mif^ht  come  to  other  rivers,  which  he  would  not 
cross ;  or  that  either  rivers,  or  any  other  obstacle,  would  deter 
him  from  prosecuting  his  determination  from  this  ominous  com- 
mencement to  its  very  last  consequence. 

One  signal  advantage  possessed  by  a  mind  of  this  character  is, 
that  its  passions  are  not  wasted.  The  whole  measure  of  passion 
of  which  any  one,  with  important  transactions  before  him,  is 
capable  is  not  more  than  enough  to  supply  interest  and  energy 
for  the  required  practical  exertions;  and,  therefore,  as  little  as 
possible  of  this  costly  flame  should  be  expended  in  a  way  that 
does  not  augment  the  force  of  action.  But  nothing  can  less  con- 
tribute, or  be  more  destructive  to  vigor  of  action,  than  protracted 
anxious  fluctuation,  through  resolutions  adopted,  rejected,  re- 
sumed, suspended ;  while  yet  nothing  causes  a  greater  expense 
of  feeling.  The  heart  is  fretted  and  exhausted  by  being  sub- 
jected to  an  alternation  of  contrary  excitements,  with  the  ulti- 
mate mortifviuir  consciousness  of  their  contributing  to  no  end. 


1  Friswell. 


^-^ 


220 


MAN    AND    III3   RELATIONS. 


The  long-wavering  deliberation,  whether  to  perform  some  bold^ 
aetion  of  difficult  virtue,  has  often  cost  more  to  feeling  tlian  the 
action  itself,  or  a  series  of  such  actions,  would  have  cost ;  with 
the  great  disadvantage,  too,  of  not  being  relieved  by  any  of  that 
inviiroration  which  the  man  in  action  finds  in  the  aetivitv  itself, 
that  spirit  created  to  renovate  the  energy  which  the  action  is 
expending.  When  the  passions  are  not  consumed  among  dubi- 
ous musings  and  abortive  resohitions,  their  utmost  value  and 
use  can  be  secured  by  throwing  all  their  animating  force  into 
effective  operation. 

Another  advantage  of  this  character  is,  that  it  exempts  from  a 
great  deal  of  interference  and  obstructive  annoyance,  which  an 
irresolute  man  may  be  almost  sure  to  encounter.  Weakness,  in 
every  form,  tempts  arrogance,  and  a  man  may  be  allowed  to  wish 
for  a  kind  of  character  witli  which  stupidity  and  impertinence 
may  not  make  so  free.  When  a  firm,  decisive  spirit  is  recog- 
nized, it  is  curious  to  see  how  the  space  clears  around  a  man, 
and  leaves  him  room  and  freedom.^ 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  greater  stumbling-block  in  the  artist's 
way  than  the  tendency  to  sacrifice  truth  and  simplicity  to  decis- 
ion and  velocity — captivating  qualities,  easy  of  attainment,  and 
sure  to  attract  attention  and  praise,  while  the  delicate  degree  of 
truth  which  is  at  first  sacrificed  to  them  is  so  totally  unappre- 
eiable  by  the  majority  of  spectators,  so  difficult  of  attainment  to 
the  artist,  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  efforts  so  arduous  and  unre- 
warded should  be  abandoned.  But  if  the  temptation  be  once 
yielded  to,  its  consequences  are  fatal;  there  is  no  pause  in  the 
fall.  I  could  name  a  celebrated  modern  artist — once  a  man  of 
the  highest  power  and  promise — who  is  a  glaring  instance  of  the 
peril  of  such  a  course.  Misled  by  the  undue  ]>opularity  of  his 
swift  execution,  he  has  sacrificed  to  it,  first  precision  and  then 


1  John  Foster. 


4^ 


^^^^** 


MEANS. 


231 


truth,  and  her  associate,  beauty.  What  was  first  neglect  of 
nature  has  become  contradiction  of  her  ;  what  was  once  imper- 
fection is  now  falsehood,  and  all  that  was  meritorious  in  his 
manner  is  becoming  the  worst,  because  the  most  attractive  of 
vices  ;  decision  without  a  four.datio:i,  a:id  swiftness  without  an 

end.^ 

Industry.— Mr.  Webster  once  replied  to  a  gentleman,  who 
pressed  him  to  speak  on  a  subject  of  great  importance:  "The 
subject  interests  me  deeply,  but  I  have  not  time.  There,  sir" 
(pointing  to  a  large  pile  of  unanswered  letters  to  which  he  must 
reply  before  the  close  of  the  session,  which  was  then  three  days 
off)  :  "  1  have  no  time  to  master  the  subject  so  as  to  do  it  jus- 
tice.'' "But.  Mr.  Webster,  a  few  words  from  you  would  do 
much  to  awaken  public  attention  to  it."  "  If  there  be  so  much 
weight  in  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  "  it  is  because  I  do  not 
allow  myself  to  speak  on  any  subject  until  my  mind  is  imbued 
with  it."  Demosthenes  was  once  urged  to  speak  on  a  great  and 
sudden  emergency.  "  I  am  not  prepared,"  said  he,  and  obsti- 
nately refused.  The  law  of  labor  is  equally  binding  on  genius 
and  mediocrity.^ 

I  suppose  we  are  all  b^dievers  in  the  boundless  power  of  steady, 
persevering  work.  "  Never  despair,"  wrote  Edmund  Burke  to 
his  friend,  "the  high-souled  and  generous!'  Wickham,  "  but  if 
you  do,  work  in  despair."     As  Mathew  Arnold  says 

And  tasks  in  hours  of  insight  willed, 
In  hours  of  gloom  can  be  fulfilled. 

0  si  sic  omnia!  Why  should  not  Mathew  Arnold  give  us 
noble  poetry,  instead  of  attacking  worthy  dissenters,  and  assault- 
ing the  very  foundations  even  of  natural  religion  ?  And,  as  the 
laureate  says : 


1  Ruskin. 


2  Dr.  Haven. 


232  MAN   AND   1113   RELATIONS. 

It  well  I  know 
That  unto  him  that  works  and  feels  he  works 
This  same  New  Year  is  ever  at  the  door. 

And  to  make  one  more  quotation :  "  Even  in  the  meanest  sorts  of 
labor,  the  \vhole  soul  of  a  man  is  composed  into  a  kind  of  real 
harmony  the  instant  he  sets  himself  to  work."^ 

Life  means  but  little  unless  it  means  that  we  are  in  a  state  of 
education — a  condition  in  which  our  powers  and  faculties  are 
to  be  educed.  If  we  are  not  in  training  for  something,  this  life 
is  one  of  the  most  serious  of  all  practical  jokes.  Labor  in  all 
its  variety,  corporeal  and  mental,  is  the  instituted  means  for 
the  methodical  development  of  all  our  powers,  under  the  direc- 
tion and  control  of  will.  Through  the  channels  of  labor  this 
vitality  is  to  be  directed.  Into  practical  results  of  good  to  our- 
selves and  others  it  is  all  to  flow,  and  those  results  will  prescribe 
the  method  which  we  need.  It  is  to  secure  this  great  end  of 
development  that  the  prizes  of  life  are  placed  before  us  as  things 
to  be  worked  for.  When  we  get  these  prizes,  they  seem  small ; 
and,  intrinsically,  they  are  of  but  little  value.  They  are,  in  fact, 
little  better  than  diplomas  that  testify  of  long  labor,  worthily 
performed.  Still  before  us  rises  worthier  good,  to  stimulate 
us  to  harder  labor  and  higher  achievement.  Still  the  will  urges 
on  the  organs  of  the  body  and  the  faculties  of  the  mind  till  that 
habit  which  is  second  nature  gives  them  the  law  of  action,  and 
employment  itself  becomes  its  own  exceeding  great  reward. 

Still,  the  most  industrious  of  us  feel,  at  times,  that  we  are 
laboring  by  compulsion.  Often  both  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  are 
unwilling  and  weak.  AVe  are  goaded  to  labor  by  need.  We 
are  urged  to  labor  because  we  can  not  enjoy  our  leisure.  We 
labor  because  we  are  ashamed  to  be  idle.  Many  a  man,  bowed 
down  by  his  daily  toil,  looks  forward  to  the  grave  for  rest,  and 

1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


MEANS. 


233 


■^ 


far  be  It  from  me  to  tell  him  that  he  is  looking  and  hoping 
for  that  which  he  will  never  experience.  I  do  not  believe  there 
will  be  any  hurry  in  eternity,  or  any  such  necessity  of  labor 
as  we  have  here.  If  I  have  a  competent  comprehension  of  the 
spiritual  estate,  it  will  tax  us  but  little  for  food  and  clothing ; 
and  if  the  labor  to  which  we  devote  ourselves  here  shall  train  us 
to  facility  in  the  use  of  our  powers,  the  work  that  will  be  given 
to  us  to  do  there  will  be  something  to  be  grateful  for.  We  shall 
have  all  the  rest  we  want.  A  sleep  of  a  century  will  make 
no  inroads  upon  our  time,  if  we  need  any  such  sleep.  But  I 
have  an  idea  that  when  the  clogs  are  off,  and  the  old  feeling 
of  youth  comes  back,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  something  to  do, 
and  that  the  use  of  powers  which  labor  has  trained  under  the 
direction  of  will  for  worthy  ends  will  be  everlasting  play,  as 
keenly  enjoyed  as  the  play  of  the  restless  boy. 

It  is  only  as  we  look  upon  labor  in  this  light  that  we  un- 
derstand its  real  value  and  significance.      If  the  prizes  we  win 
here  are  all  the  reward  that  labor  brings,  it  pays  but  poorly. 
But  labor,  like  all  the  passages  through  which  God  would  lead 
our  life,  is  full  of  incidental  rewards.      The  man  who  carves  the 
channel  of  a  laborious  life  taps  the  springs  of  tributary  joys 
through   every   mile.     Health    is   an    incident   of  powers   well 
trained  and  industriously  employed.      Self-respect  wells  up  in 
the  heart  of  him  whose  energies,  under  the  control  of  hisi  will, 
are  directed  to  worthy  ends.     Popular  regard  crowns  him  who 
is  a  worthy  worker.     The  sleep  of  the  laboring  man  is  sweet, 
and  none  but  he   knows   the    luxury   of  fatigue.     Temptation 
files  from  the  earnest  and  contented    laborer,  and  preys    upon 
the   brain   and   heart   of  the   idler.      Labor   brings    men    into 
sympathy  with  the  worthy  men  of  the  world .     So  there  is  enough 
of  joy  to  be  found  in  labor,  if  we  will  only  mark  its  source, 


#) 


234 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


to  encourage  and  content  us,  even  if  the  great  end  of  labor 
be  somewhat  hidden  from  us,  as  it  doubtless  is  from  multitudes 
cf  mcn.^ 

A  man  who  inherits  wealth  may  begin  and  worry  through 
three-score  years  and  ten  witliout  any  very  definite  object.  In 
driving,  in  foreign  travel,  in  hunting  and  fishing,  in  club-houses 
and  society,  he  may  manage  to  pass  away  his  time;  but  he  will 
hardly  be  happy.  It  seems  to  be  necessary  to  health  that  the 
powers  of  a  man  be  trained  upon  some  object,  and  steadily  held 
there  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  while  vitality  lasts.  There 
may  come  a  time  in  old  age  when  the  fund  of  vitality  will  have 
sunk  so  low  that  he  can  follow  no  consecutive  labor  without 
such  a  draft  upon  his  forces  that  sleep  can  not  restore  them. 
Then,  and  not  before,  he  should  stop  work.  But,  so  long  as  a 
man  l.as  vitality  to  spare  upon  work,  it  must  be  used,  or  it  will 
become  a  source  of  grievous,  harassing  discontent.  The  man  will 
not  know  what  to  do  with  himself;  and  when  he  has  reached  such 
a  point  as  that,  he  is  unconsciously  digging  a  grave  for  himself, 
and  fashioning  his  own  coffin.  Life  needs  a  steady  channel  to 
run  in — regnlar  habits  of  w^ork  and  of  sleep.  It  needs  a  steady, 
stimulating  aim — a  trend  toward  something.  An  aimless  life 
can  never  be  happy,  or,  for  a  long  period,  healthy.  Said  a  rich 
widow  to  a  gentleman,  still  laboring  beyond  his  needs:  "Don't 
stojt*  keep  at  it,"  The  words  that  were  in  her  heart  were :  "  If 
my  husband  had  not  stopped,  he  would  be  alive  to-day."  And 
what  she  thought  was  doubtless  true.  A  greater  shock  can 
hardly  befall  a  man  who  has  been  active  than  that  which  he 
experiences  when,  having  relinquished  his  pursuits,  he  finds 
unused  time  and  unused  vitality  hanging  upon  his  idle  hands 
ar.d  mind.  The  current  of  his  life  is  thus  thrown  into  eddies,  or 
settled  into  a  sluggish  pool,  and  he  begins  to  die.^ 


1  Dr.  UoUand. 


2  Ibid. 


4 


MEANS. 


235 


A  hearty  industry  promotes  happiness.  Some  men  of  the 
greatest  industry  are  unhappy  from  infelicity  of  disposition  ;  they 
are  morose,  or  suspicious,  or  envious.  Such  qualities  make  hap- 
piness impossible  under  any  circumstances. 

Health  is  the  platform  on  which  all  happiness  must  be  built. 
Good  appetite,  good  digestion,  and  good  sleep  are  the  elements 
of  health,  and  industry  confers  them.  As  use  polishes  metals, 
so  labor  the  faculties,  until  the  body  performs  its  unimpeded 
functions  with  elastic  cheerfulness  and  hearty  enjoyment. 

Buoyant  spirits  are  an  clement  of  happiness,  and  activity  pro- 
duces them ;  but  they  fly  away  from  sluggishness,  as  fixed  air 
from  open  wine.     Men's  spirits  are  like  water,  which  sparkles 
when  it  runs,  but  stagnates  in  still  pools,  and  is  mantled  with 
green,  and  breeds  corruption  and  filth.     The  applause  of  con- 
science, the  self-respect  of  pride,  the  consciousness  of  independ- 
ence, a  manly  joy  of  usefulness,  the  consent  of  every  fiiculty  of 
the  mind  to  one's  occupation,  and  their  gratification  in  it— these 
constitute  a  happiness  superior  to  the  fever-flashes  of  vice  in  its 
brightest  moments.      After  an   experience  of  ages,   which   has 
taught  nothing  diflcrent  from  this,  men  should  have  learned  that 
satisfaction  is  not  the  product  of  excess,  or  of  indolence,  or  of 
riches,  but  of  industry,  temperance,  and  usefulness.     Every  vil- 
lage has  instances  which  ought  to  teach  young  men  that  he  who 
goes  aside  from  the  simplicity  of  nature  and  the  purity  of  virtue, 
to  wallow  in  excesses,  carousals,  and  surfeits,  at  length  misses  the 
errand  of  his  life,  and,  sinking  with  shattered  body  prematurely 
to  a  dishonored  grave,  mourns  that  he  mistook  exhilaration  for 
satisfaction,  and  abandoned  the  very  home  of  happiness  when  he 
forsook  the  labors  of  useful  industry.     .     .     .     Industry  is  the 
parent  of  thrift.     In  the  overburdened   states  of  Europe,  the 
severest  toil  often  only  suffices  to  make  life  a  wretched  va.-il- 


JJm 


rjti/dtf 


*# 


230 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


latlon   between  food  and  famine;   but  in  America,  industry  is 

prosperity. 

Althou<rh  God  has  stored  the  world  with  an  endless  variety  of 
riches  fur  man's  wants,  he  has  made  them  all  accessible  only  to 
industry.  The  food  we  eat,  the  raiment  which  covers  us,  the 
house  which  protects,  must  be  secured  by  diligence.  To  tempt 
man  yet  more  to  industry,  every  product  of  the  earth  has  a  sus- 
ceptibility of  improvement;  so  that  man  not  only  obtains  the 
gifts  of  nature  at  the  price  of  labor,  but  these  gifts  become  more 
precious  as  we  bestow  upon  them  greater  skill  and  cultivation. 
The  wheat  and  maize  which  crown  our  ample  fields  were  food  fit 
but  for  birds  before  man  perfected  them  by  labor.  The  fruits 
of  the  forest  and  the  hedge,  scarcely  tempting  to  the  extremest 
hunger,  after  skill  has  dealt  with  them  and  transplanted  them  to 
the  orchard  and  the  garden,  allure  every  sense  with  the  richest 
colors,  odors,  and  flavors.  The  world  is  full  of  germs  which  man 
is  set  to  develop ;  and  there  is  scarcely  an  assignable  limit  to 
which  the  hand  of  skill  and  labor  may  not  bear  the  powers  of 
nature.  .  .  .  Industry  gives  character  and  credit  to  the 
young.  The  reputable  portions  of  society  have  maxims  of  pru- 
dence by  which  the  young  are  judged  and  admitted  to  their  good 
opinions.  Docs  he  regard  his  word  f  Js  he  industrious  f  Is  he 
economical.^  Is  he  free  from  immoral  habits  f  The  answer  which 
a  young  man's  conduct  gives  to  these  questions  settles  his  recep- 
tion among  good  men.  Experience  has  shown  that  the  other 
good  qualities  of  veracity,  frugality,  and  modesty  are  apt  to  be 
associated  with  industry.  A  prudent  man  would  scarcely  be  per- 
suaded that  a  listless,  lounging  fellow  would  be  economical  or 
trustworthy.  An  employer  would  judge  wisely  that,  where  there 
was  little  regard  for  time  or  for  occupation,  there  would  be  as  little, 
upon  temptation,  for  honesty  or  veracity.     Pilferings  of  the  till 


^ 


J 


"•r 


J 


MEANS. 


237 


and  robberies  are  fit  deeds  for  idle  clerks  and  lazy  apprentices. 
Industry  and  knaverv  are  sometimes  found  associated  ;  but  men 
wonder  at  it  as  at  a  strange  thing.  The  epithets  of  society 
which  betoken  its  experience  are  all  in  favor  of  industry.  Thus 
the  terms,  '-a  hard-workin;-:  man,"  '^  an  industrious  man,''  *^a 
laborious  artisan,"  are  employed  to  mean  an  honest  man,  a  trust- 
worthy man.     .•    .     . 

Industry  is  a  substitute  for  genius.     Where  one  or  more  facul- 
ties  exist  in  the  highest  state  of  development  and  activity — as 
the  faculty  of  music  in  Mozart,  invention  in  Fulton,  ideality  in 
Milton — we  call  their  possessor  a  genius.     But  a  genius  is  usually 
understood  to  be  a  creature  of  such  rare  facility  of  mind  that  he 
can  d.)  anything  without  labor.     According  to  the  popular  notion, 
he  learns  without  study,  and  knows  without  learning.     He  is 
eloquent  without  preparation,  exact  without  calculation,  and  pro- 
found without  reflection.     AVhile  ordinary  men  toil  for  knowl- 
edge by  reading,  by  comparison,  and  by  minute  research,  a  genius 
is  supposed  to  receive  it  as  the  mind  receives  dreams.     His  mind 
is  like  a  Vast  cathedral,  through  whose  colored  windows  the  sun- 
light streams,  painting  the  aisles  with  the  varied  colors  of  brill- 
iant pictures.     .     .     .     Young   men   should  observe  that  those 
who  take  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  mechanical  crafts,  of 
commerce,  and  of  professional  life,  are  rather  distinguished  for  a 
sound  judgment  and  a  close    application    than   for  a  brilliant 
genius.     In  the  ordinary  business  of  life,  industry  can  do  any- 
thing which  genius  can  do,  and  very  many  things  which  it  can 
not.     Genius  is  usually  impatient  of  application,  irritable,  scorn- 
ful of  men's  dullness,  squeamish  at  petty  disgusts  ;  it  loves  a  con- 
spicuous place,  short  work,  and  a  large  reward;  it  loathes  the 
sweat  of  toil,  the  vexations  of  life,  and  the  dull  burden  of  care. 
Industry  has  a  firmer  muscle,  is  less  annoyed   by  delays  and 


.f 


1 


238 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


239 


repulses,  and,  like  water,  bends  itself  to  the  shape  of  the  soil 
over  which  it  flows,  and,  if  checked,  will  not  rest,  but  accumu- 
lates, and  mines  a  passage  beneath,  or  seeks  a  side-race,  or  rises 
above  and  overflows  the  obstruction.  What  genius  performs  at 
one  impulse,  industry  gains  by  a  succession  of  blows.  In  ordi- 
narv  matters  thev  differ  onlv  in  rapidity  of  execiution,  and  are 
upon  one  level  before  men — who  see  the  resuU,  but  not  the 
process} 

Concentration. — Talents,  to  strike  the  eye  of  posterity, 
should  be  concentrated.  Hays,  powerless  while  they  are  scat- 
tered, burn  in  a  point.^ 

The   one  prudence  in    life  is  concentration  ;    the  one  evil  is 
dissipation  :  and  it  makes  no  difference  whether  our  dissipations 
are  coarse  or  fine — pr<'|H  rtv  imd   its  cares,  friends,  and   a  social 
habit,   or  politics,   or   mu-ic,   or  feasting.     Everything  is  good 
^vl!ir•h  tnkf-   awnv  one   ]>]nvt]iing  and   (klu.-iun    more,  ami  «lriv93 
us  home   to   add    <<\\v    stroke  of  faithfrd    wnrl;.      Friends,  books, 
pirtiiros,  lower  duties,  takaii-,   ihiilrrii-,   li"j).' all   are  distrac- 
tions which  cause  oscillations  in  our  giihly  l»alloon.  and  make  a 
good   poise  and  a  straight   course   iuipos-iblc.      ^  ou   must  elect 
vr»iir  Avr.rk  ;   vdu   slinll    tak"'    \\\i:\[    xciir    brain   can,  and   drop  all 
the  rest.     Oulv  so  can    iliat    amoiiiu    (d'  vital   force  accumulate, 
which    <':iii    m;dvc   the   step   I'rom    knowing  to   doing.      No  matter 
how   iau(  h  i'acultv  of  idle  seeing  a  man  has,  the  step  from  know- 
iu"'  to  d.,iii-  is  rareiv  taken.      'Tis  a  step  out   of  a   chalk  cinde 
of    imh  <ilitv    into    fniitfulness.      ^lany    an    arti-t    hud^ing    this, 
lacks  all  :  he  sees  the  masculine  Augcdo  or  Cellini   with   despair. 
He.  too,  is  lip   to   Nature   and    the    First   Cause   in    his  thought; 
but  th<'  spasm  to  collect  and  swing  his  whole  being  into  one  act, 
he  ha-  let.     The  poet  Campbell  said,  that  ^' a  man  accustomed 
to  work  wa-  equal  to  any  achievement  he  resolved  on,  and  that. 


for  himself,  necessity,  not  inspiration,  was  the  prompter  of  his 

muse." 

Concentration  is  the  secret  of  strength  in  politics,  in  war,  in 

trade— in  short,  in  all  management  of  human  affairs.     One  of 
the  high  anecdotes  of  the  world  is  the  reply  of  Newton  to  the 
inquiry,  "how  he  had  been  able  to  achieve  hi<  discoveries?"— 
"By  always  intending  my  mind."     Or,  if  you  will  have  a  text 
from  politics,   take  this  from   Plutarch:    -  There    was,   in   the 
whole  city,  but  one  street  in  which  Pericles  was  ever  seen-tln^ 
street  whk  h  led  to  the  market-place  and  the  council  house.     He 
declined  all  invitations  to  banquets,  and   all  gay  assemb1i<- and 
company.     During  the  whole   period   of  his  administration,  he 
never  dined  at  the  table  of  a  friend."     Or,  if  we  seek  an  exam])le 
from  trade:   "  I  hope,"   said  a  good  man   to   Rothschild,   '^vour 
children  are  not  too  fond  of  money  and  business:    1  am  sure  you 
would  not  wish  that."     ''  I  am   >ure  T  should    wi^h   thai  :    1  wi^h 
thorn  to  give  mind,  soul,  lieart,  and  body  to  business;  that  is  the 
wav  to   be   hai.|.y.      It  requires  a  great   deal   -d"  boldness   and  a 
great   de.J  of  caution   to   make  a  great  fortune,  and   wlnm   you 
have  got  it,  it  requires  ten  times  as  much  to   keep   it.      It    1  were 
to  listen  to  all  the  projects  proposed  to  me,  1  should  ruin  myself 
vervsoon.      Stick   to   one   business,   young   man.      Stick  to   y<.ur* 
brew(  rv  (he  said   this   to   yotmg   Buxton),  and   you  will   be  the 
great  Invwer  oi  London.     r>e  brewer,  and  banker,  and  nua-chant, 
and  manufacturer,  and  you  will  >oon  be  in  the  Cazette.'" 

The  first  law  of  success  at  this  day,  when  so  many  things  are 
clamorin-  for  attention,  is  concentration— to  V)end  all  the  ener- 
gies to  one  point,  and  to  go  directly  to  that  point,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  It  has  been  justly  said  that 
a  great  deal  of  the  wisdom  of  a  man  in  this  century  is  shown  in 
kavin-  things  unknown,  and  a  great   deal  of  his  practical  sense 


1  Becchcr. 


2  Willmott. 


1  Emerboii. 


240 


MAN    AND    HIS    KELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


241 


'    I 


in  haviiiL:'  tliin'^-- mulorr.  Tlif  <l;iy  of  miivcrsal  x-liolar-^  is  ]xist. 
Life  i-  -liort,  and  art  i-  li>n--.  The  i-anirc  of  luiinan  kn()wl('(lii:e 
has  incr.'a-cd  ><»  cnoianon-ly  that  m)  l)rain  can  ua-applc  with  it  ; 
and  lib'  man  \vIm>  wnnld  know  nnc  thinu'  well  nin>t  have  the 
cnnraL!!'  t<.'  hv  iL:.n<»rant  of  a  thunsand  otlicr  things^  however 
:ilt!a('ii\<'  «•!•  inviting.  As  with  knowhdge,  so  witli  work.  Tlic 
man  wh^  wnnid  'jet  ahmg  must  single  out  his  speciality,  and 
into  That  nin-t  pnni-  the  \\h(de  stream  <»!'  his  activity — all  the 
encru'ies  of  hi-   hand,  <'\'e,  toiiLl'ne,  heart,  and  brain.' 

A  man  mav  haxc  the  most  dazzling  talent-,  hut  if  they  are 
scattcrrd  upon  manv  ohjects,  lie  will  accomplish  nothing.  Sir 
Joshua  Kevn(dd>  ur-vd  t(»  >ay  that  a  painter  shoidd  sew  uj)  his 
mouth  ;  <^liat  i-,  he  mu.-t  not  -hine  as  a  talker,  if  he  woid<l  (\\cel 
in  hi-  art.  ^Strength  is  like  gunpowder — to  he  etfective,  it  needs 
concentration  and  aim.  The  mark.-man  nvIio  aim-  at  the  whole 
tare-et  will  ,-eldoni  hit  the  center.  The  literary  man  or  philoso- 
})her  neiv  revel  among  the  sweetest  and  most  heautii'id  liowers 
of  thouii'lit,  hut  unles-  he  gathers  and  cond(Mises  the  -weets  in 
the  honev-eonil)  ot'  ,-onie  great  thought  or  W(U'k,  hi-  finest  con- 
ception- will  he  lost  or  t!S(de.sr.  A\  hen  ^liehael  Angelo  was 
a-k(d  whv  \ii'  did  not  maia'y,  he  replied,  '"  Painting  is  my  wife, 
•  and  m\-  work-  are  my  children."  ^'  ]\lr.  A.  often  laughs  at  me," 
-aid  a  learned  Ameriian  «  hemi.-t,  "  heeanse  T  have  Init  <me  idea. 
He  lalk-  ah()Ui  (\(t\t!iin- — aim-  to  <'\e(l  in  n. any  things;  hut 
I  ha\-.'  learned  ilia!  i !"  1  wi-h  (  ver  to  make  a  hreaeh,  I  nui>t  l)lay 
iiiv  "u;i^  ront iiiu;di\'  upon  one  nijinf."  Ilis  jj;unner\'  was  .-uc- 
ccssfid.  r>e'_::nn;nLi  life  ;.-  an  ol)-(aire  -ehoolmaster,  and  poring 
(»\-er  SiHlnian'-  doiiiaia!  hv  the  light  (if  a  pine  knot  in  a  log 
cal»in,  \ir  wa.s  cridouL;-  performing  experiments  in  (deetro-mag- 
notism  to  Enirli-h  earls,  and  has  since  hecn  at  the  head  of  one 
of  th"  chief  .-eieiitilic  iiiitituticiis  of  his  country." 


'II 


*»!» 


-  »1 


1  Mathews. 


2  Ibid. 


Kg  small  amotint  of  ridieule  has  l)eon  expended  tipon  the  man 
of  one  idea.  But  we  do  not  desire  our  readers  to  l)e  men  of  one 
idea  because  M'e  recommend  tlu  ni  to  he  men  of  one  aim.  It  is 
certain  that  no  man  has  ever  attained  to  affluence  or  reputation, 
or,  what  is  more  important,  has  ever  been  able  to  accomplish 
anvthintr  for  the  u'ood  of  himself  and  his  fellows  nnle.-s  he  has 
been  dominated  by  some  master-purpose.  liUther,  if  not  a  man 
of  one  idea,  was  a  man  with  a  single  object;  and  we  know  liovv^ 
gloriously  he  accomplished  it.  The  same  may  be  said  of  C'avour, 
of  Levden,  of  Jolm  Weslev,  of  all  the  world's  great  statesmen 
and  reformers.  There  was  much  shrewdness  in  the  remark  made 
upon  Cannings  that  he  had  too  many  talents;  or,  as  his  early 
patron,  William  Pitt,  put  it,  that  he  miglit  liave  achieved  any- 
thing had  he  but  gone  on  straight  to  tlic  mark.  Yet,  wit  as  lie 
was,  and  satirist  as  well  as  orator  and  ])olitician — that  is,  versatile 
as  were  his  abilities — they  were  all  directed  by  his  ambition 
toward  one  goal — the  acrpiisition  of  political  power.  Xot  the 
grandest  of  goals  certainly,  but  one  not  to  be  attained  without  a 
complete  concentration  of  energy  and  genius.  Even  a  greater 
directness  of  purj)ose  may  be  traced  in  the  career  of  Pitt, 
who  lived— ay,  and  died — for  the  sake  of  political  supremacy. 
That  was  the  aim,  the  ])urpose  of  his  life;  and  so  we  sec  him 
*^  ne<>"lectin<''  evervthintr  else — careless  of  friends,  careless  of 
expenditure,  so  that,  with  an  income  of  ten  thousand  a  year  and 
no  family,  he  died  hopelessly  in  debt;  tearing  up  by  the  roots 
from  his  breast  a  love  most  deep  and  tender  because  it  ran 
counter  to  his  ambition  ;  totally  inditterent  to  posthumous  fame, 
so  that  he  did  not  take  the  pains  to  transmit  to  posterity  a  single 
one  of  his  speeches;  utterly  insensible  to  the  claims  of  litera- 
ture, art,  and  helles-lettrcs ;  living  and  working  terribly  for  the 
one  sole  purpose  of  wielding  the  governing  power  of  the  nation.^' 

17 


\\- 


i  / 


. 


242 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


The  "  one  aim  "  we  take  to  bo  the  secret  of  a  useful  and  worthy 
life;  the  ''one  idea''  a  delusion  of  which  the  mind  can  not  too 
soon  be  disabused.  A  concentration  of  energy  and  talent  upon 
the  object  which  it  is  most  important  for  us  to  secure  implies  no 
absolute  disregard  of  every  other.  Because  a  traveler  presses 
forward  resolutely  to  the  desired  haven,  and  refuses  to  wander 
from  the  direct  road,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  he  shall  have 
no  eves  for  the  blossoms  that  shine  by  the  wayside,  no  ears  for 
the  music  of  the  brook  that  ripph^s  through  the  bracken.  An 
indifference  to  everything  that  brightens  or  ennobles  life  is  very 
apt  to  militate  against  success— success,  that  is,  of  the  highest 
and  purest  kind.  Because  Faraday  made  chemistry  his  great 
pursuit,  he  did  not  neglect  every  other  branch  of  science.  Be- 
cause John  Stuart  Mill  gave  himself  up  chiefly  to  political 
economy  and  metaphysical  inquiry,  he  did  not  deny  himself  the 
sweet  pleasures  of  botany  and  music.  Mr.  Gladstone  is  a  fine 
Homeric  scholar,  as  well  as  practical  statesman.^ 

Life  is  cumulative  in  all  ways.  A  steady  purpose  is  like  a 
river,  that  gathers  volume  and  momentum  by  flowing  on.  The 
successful  man  is  not  one  who  can  do  many  things  indifferently, 
but  one  thing  in  a  superior  manner.  Versatility  is  overpraised. 
There  is  a  certain  value  in  having  many  strings  to  one's  bow, 
but  there  is  more  value  in  having  a  bow  and  a  string,  a  hand  and 
an  eye,  that  will  every  time  send  the  arrow  into  the  bull's  eye  of 
the  target.  The  world  is  full  of  vagabonds  who  can  turn  their 
hands  to  anything.  The  man  who  does  odd  jobs  is  not  the  one 
who  gets  very  far  up  in  any  job.  The /ac^o^wm  is  a  convenience, 
but  he  is  seldom  a  success.  The  machinist  who  works  in  any- 
where is  not  the  one  who  is  put  to  the  nicest  work.  A  certain 
concentration  is  essential  to  excellence,  except  in  rare  cases  like 
Leonardo   da  Vinci,  and   Pascal,  and  Aristotle,  and  Franklin, 

1  Adams. 


MEANS. 


243 


whose  natures  were  so  broad  as  to  cover  all  studies  and  jinrsiiits. 
One  of  the  most  extensive  wool-buyers  in  the  world  says  that  his 
success  is  due  to  the  fact  that  his  father  and  grandfitlic  r  liandl'd 
wool,  that  his  ow^n  earliest  recollections  were  of  handling  wool, 
and  that  he  had  kept  on  handling  it.  The  largest  manufacturer 
of  paper  in  the  country  is  the  son  of  a  paper-maker,  born  and 
bred  to  all  the  details  of  the  business.  There  are,  indeed,  many 
cases  of  large  success  where  men  have  passed  from  one  pursuit  to 
another,  but  in  most  you  will  find  a  certain  unity  running  through 
their  various  occupations.  One  may  begin  a  stone-cutter  and 
end  as  a  geologist,  like  Hugh  Miller;  or  a  sculptor,  like  Powers; 
or  as  a  machinist,  and  turn  out  an  inventor ;  or  as  a  printer,  and 
become  a  publisher.  A  strong,  definite  purpose  is  many-handed, 
and  lays  hold  of  whatever  is  near  that  can  serve  it ;  it  has  a  mag- 
netic power  that  draws  to  itself  whatever  is  kindred. 

A  purpose,  by  holding  one  down  to  some  steady  pursuit  and 
legitimate  occupation,  wars  against  the  tendency  to  engage  in 
ventures  and  speculations.  The  devil  of  the  business  w^orld  is 
chance.     Chance  is  chaotic ;  it  belongs  to  the  period 

When  eldest  Night 
And  Chaos,  ancestors  of  Nature,  held 
Eternal  anarchy  amidst  the  noise 
Of  endless  wars,  and  by  confusion  stood. 

It  is  opposed  in  nature  to  order  and  law ;  it  is  the  abdication 
of  reason,  the  enthronement  of  guess.  The  chance  element  in 
business  is  not  only  demoralizing  to  the  man,  but  in  the  long  run 
it  is  disastrous  to  his  fortunes ;  and,  if  it  yields  a  temporary  suc- 
cess, it  is  a  success  unearned,  and,  therefore,  unappreciated,  for 
we  must  put  something  of  thought  and  genuine  effort  into  an 
enterprise  before  we  can  get  any  substantial  good  out  of  it.  The 
defalcations,  the  shoddy  of  society,  the  diamonds  gleaming  on 


244 


MAN   AND  HIS  KELATI0N9. 


unwashed  hands,  the  ignorance  that  looks  through  plate-glass, 
and  no  small  part  of  the  crime  that  looks  through  iron  bars,  are 
the  creations  of  the  chance  or  speculative  element  in  business. 
No  good  ever  comes  from  it.     If  it  lifts  a  man  up,  it  is  only  to  dash 
him^to  the  eartli.     In  California  they  aptly  call  it  "  playing  with 
the  tiger,"  and  the  game  always  ends  by  the  tiger  eating  the  man. 
The  chances  in  the  stock  market  of  San  Francisco  are  less  than 
in  Chinese  gambling,  at  which  the  Caucasian  affects  to  laugh; 
but  the  Mongolian  plays  to  better  purpose  with  his  one  chance 
in  ten  than  does  the  other  in  the  ever-recurring  bonanza.     The 
Californians  are  not  yet  a  rich  people,  but  almost  every  old  resi- 
dent has  at  some  time  held  a  fortune  in  his  hands.     Their  specu- 
lations are  very  like  their  smelting  of  quicksilver— going  up  an 
expansive  vapor,  but  trickling  back  solid  into  a  single  reservoir. 
If  there  is  one  purpose  a  young  man  needs  to  hold  to  rigidly  and 
without  exception,  it  is  to  keep  to  legitimate  modes  of  business. 
Don^t  abjure  your  reason  by  appealing  to  chance,  nor  insult  order 
by  takin-  up  that  which,  as  Milton  says,  "by  confusion  stands.'' 
Don't,  of  deliberate  purpose,  make  a  figure  of  yourself  for  "  the 
spirits  of  the  wise,  sitting  in  the  clouds,  to  laugh  at."     A  steady 
purpose,  embodied  in  a  substantial  pursuit,  shuts  out  these  chance 

forms  of  business.^ 

Persistency.— The  secret  of  success  is  constancy  to  purpose.^ 
I  have  brought  myself,  by  long  meditation,  to  the  conviction 

that  a  human  being  with  a  settled  purpose  must  accomplish  it, 

and  that  nothing  can  resist  a  will  that  will  stake  even  existence 

for  its  fulfillment.^ 

The  characteristic  of  heroism  is  its  persistency.     All  men  have 

wandering  impulses,  fits  and  starts  of  generosity ;  but,  when  you 

have  chosen  your  part,  abide  by  it,  and  do  not  weakly  try  to 

reconcile  yourself  with  the  world.* 


Munger. 


^Beaconsfield. 


8  Ibid. 


*  Emerson. 


MEANS. 


245 


Here,  too,  there  is  the  warning  of  wise  and  dearly-bouglit 
experience  in  the  legends  of  antiquity.  Atalaiita  stops  to  pick 
up  the  golden  apples,  and  she  is  worsted  in  the  race.  Orpheus 
has  regained,  with  his  Eurydice,  the  verge  of  light;  he  looks 
back,  and  Ibi  omnls  effusus  labor — wasted  is  all  his  toil.  Nor  is 
it  otherwise  in  Scripture.  Remember  what  came  to  Israel,  sigh- 
ing for  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  Remember  Lot's  wife;  she 
looked  back  to  the  guilty  city,  and  the  suffocating  whirlwind 
caught  her  in  its  sulphurous  winding-sheets,  and  she  became  a 
salt  pillar  on  Sodom's  plain.  Oiir  Lord  Himself  pointed  the 
same  warnings.  ^'  No  man,  having  put  his  hand  to  the  plow, 
and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God  ;"  and  "  Let  the 
dead  bury  their  dead.     Follow  thou  Me  !"  ^ 

The  great  weakness  of  our  young  men  is  fickleness ;  and, 
where  one  of  them  perseveres  in  a  calling  which  he  ought  to 
abandon,  a  dozen  abandon  their  callings  who  ought  to  stick  to 
them.  The  better  the  profession  the  more  likely  they  are  to  do 
this;  for  all  those  kinds  of  business  which  are  surest  in  th(5  end, 
which  pay  best  in  the  long  run,  are  slowest  in  beginning  to  yield 
a  return.  It  is  natural,  too,  when  one  sees  lions  in  his  way,  to 
fancy  that  all  the  other  roads  are  clear  of  them.  But  nothing 
can  be  achieved  without  tenacity  of  purpose.  Do  not,  therefore, 
give  up  your  deliberately  chosen  calling,  unless  the  arguments 
for  retreating  are  far  weightier  than  those  for  going  on.^ 

Keep  true  to  your  object.  Remember  that  "  steadfast  appli- 
cation to  a  fixed  aim"  is  the  law  of  a  well-spent  life  and  the 
secret  of  an  honorable  success.  Said  Giardini,  when  asked  how 
long  it  w^ould  take  to  learn  the  violin,  "  Twelve  hours  a  day  for 
twenty  years  together."  Ah  me!  how  many  of  us  think  to  play 
our  fiddles  by  inspiration !  Now  Giardini  became  a  great  violin- 
ist because  he  practiced  twelve  hours  a  day,  and  only  on  the 


1  Farrar. 


2  Mathews. 


246 


MAN   AND   HIS   nZLATIONS. 


violin.     His  motto  was  StrafTonrs— "  Thorough:"  and  we  know 
of  no  better  motto  ibr  men  in  earnest.^ 

It  is  not  accident,  then,  that  helps  a  man  in  the  world,  but 
purpose  and  persistent  industry.     These  make   a  man  sharp  to 
discern  opportunities,  and  turn  them  to  account.     To  the  feeble, 
the  sluggish,  and  purposeless,  the  happiest  opportunities  avail 
nothing — they  pass  them  by,  seeing  no  meaning  in  them.     But 
if  we  are  prompt  to  seize  and  improve  even  the  shortest  intervals 
of  possible  action  and  effort,  it  is  astonishing  how  much  can  be 
accomplished.      Watt  taught  himself  chemistry   and  mechanics 
while  working  at  his  trade  of  a  mathematical  instrument-maker; 
and    he    availed    himself  of  every    opportunity    to    extend    his 
knowledge  of  languages,  literature,  and  the  principles  of  science. 
Stephenson    taught    himself  arithmetic   and   mensuration    while 
workino-  as  an  engine-man  during  the  night  shifts,  and  he  studied 
mechanics  during  his  spare  hours  at  home,  thus  preparing  him- 
self for  his  great   work — the  invention   of  the  passenger   loco- 
motive.    Dalton's  industry  was  the  habit  of  his  life.     He  began 
from  his  boyhood,  for  he  taught  a  little  village  school  when  he 
was  onlv  about  twelve  years  old— keeping  the  school  in  winter, 
and    working    upon    his    father's  farm   in   summer.     He  would 
sometimes  urge  himself  and  companions  to  study  by  the  stimu- 
lus of  a  bet,  though  bred  a  Quaker;  and  on  one  occasion,  by  his 
satisfactory  solution  of  a  problem,  he  in  this  way  won  as  much 
as  enabled  him  to  buy  a  winter^s  store  of  candles.     He  went  on 
indefatigably,  making  his  meteorological  observations  until  a- day 
or  two  before  he  died — having  made  and  recorded  upward  of 
200,000  in  the  course  of  his  life. 

With  perseverance,  the  very  odds  and  ends  of  time  may  be 
worked  up  into  results  of  the  greatest  value.  An  hour  in  every 
day,  withdrawn    from  frivolous   pursuits,   would,   if  profitably 

1  Adams. 


MEANS. 


247 


employed,  enable  a  person  of  ordinary  capacity  to  go  far  toward 
mastering  a  complete  science.  It  would  make  an  ignorant  man 
a  well-informed  man  in  ten  years.  We  must  not  allow  the  time 
to  pass  without  yielding  fruits,  in  the  form  of  something  learnt 
worthy  of  being  known,  some  good  principle  cultivated,  or  some 
good  habit  strengthened.  Dr.  Mason  Good  translated  Lucretius 
while  riding  in  his  carriage  in  the  streets  of  London,  going  his 
rounds  among  his  patients.  Dr.  Darwin  composed  nearly  all 
his  works  in  the  same  way,  while  driving  about  in  his  ^^  sulky," 
from  house  to  house,  in  the  country,  writing  down  his  thoughts 
on  little  scraps  of  paper,  which  he  carried  about  with  him  for 
the  purpose.  Hale  wrote  his  '' Contemplations"  while  traveling 
on  circuit.  Dr.  Burney  learned  French  and  Italian  while  travel- 
ing on  horseback ,  from  one  musical  pupil  to  another,  in  the 
course  of  his  profession.  Kirke  White  learned  Greek  while 
walking  to  and  from  a  lawyer's  office;  and  w'e  personally  know 
a  man  of  eminent  position  in  a  northern  manufacturing  town 
who  learned  Latin  and  French  while  going  messages  as  an 
errand-boy  in  the  streets  of  Manchester.^ 

Self-Reliance. — I  remember  when  Mr.  Locke,  of  Norbury 
Park,  first  came  over  from  Italy,  and  old  Dr.  Moore,  who  had 
a  high  opinion  of  him,  w^as  crying  up  his  drawings,  and  asked 
me  if  I  did  not  think  he  would  make  a  great  painter?  I  said, 
"No,  never!"     "Why  not?"     "Because  he  has  six  thousand  a 


year 


>?2 


The  consciousness  of  wealth  is  always  dangerous.  When  a 
young  man  comes  to  feel  that  because  his  father  has  wealth  he 
has  no  need  of  personal  exertion,  he  is  doomed.  Only  the  rarest 
natural  gifts  and  the  most  exceptional  training  can  save  the  sons 
of  the  rich  from  failure  of  the  true  ends  of  life.  They  may 
escape  vice  and  attain  to  respectability,  but  for  the  most  part 


1  Smiles. 


2  Northcote. 


248 


MAN  AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


they  are  hurt  in  some  degree  or  respect.  The  consciousness  of 
wealth  in  the  latter  part  of  life,  after  one  has  earned  or  become 
prepared  for  it,  may  be  not  only  not  injurious,  but  healthful, 
though  one  ought  to  be  able  to  live  a  high  and  happy  life  with- 
out it.  But  anything  that  lessens  in  a  young  man  the  feeling 
that  he  is 'to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world  is  hurtful  to  the 
last  degree. 

As  the  result  of  these  two  causes — with  others,  doubtless — 
young  men  of  the  present  years,  as  a  class,  are  not  facing  life 
with  that  resolute  and  definite  purpose  that  is  essential  both 
to  manhood  and  to  external  success.  There  is  far  less  of  this 
early  measurement  and  laying  hold  of  life  with  some  definite 
intent  than  there  was  a  generation  ago.  It  is  to  be  feared  that 
we  could  not  again  fight  the  war  for  the  Union  to  the  same  issue. 
Young  men  do  not  so  much  go  to  college  as  they  are  sent.  They 
do  not  push  their  way  into  callings,  but  suffer  themselves  to 
be  led  into  them.  Indeed,  the  sacred  w^ord  calling  seems  to 
have  lost  its  meaning;  they  hear  no  voice  summoning  them 
to  the  appointed  field,  but  drift  into  this  or  that,  as  happens. 
They  appear  to  be  waiting — to  be  floating  with  the  current, 
instead  of  rowing  up  the  stream  toward  the  hills  where  lie  the 
treasures  of  life.^ 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  self  is  the  only  certain  re- 
liance. Money,  family,  friends,  circumstances — these  come  and 
go  on  the  uncertain  tide  of  time.  The  old  Norseman  was  right : 
on  neither  idols  nor  demons,  upon  nothing  but  the  strength 
of  his  own  body  and  soul,  woukl  he  depend.  There  must  be, 
however,  a  self  to  depend  on.  Self  is  not  a  whim  ;  it  is  not  im- 
pulse, nor  ambition,  nor  flux  of  motives,  but  a  substantial  person, 
grounded  in  intelligence,  and  will,  and  moral  sense.^ 

There  is  no  surer  sign  of  an  unmanly  and  cowardly  spirit  than 


Monger. 


« Ibid. 


MEANS. 


249 


a  vague  desire  for  help ;  a  wish  to  depend,  to  lean  upon  some- 
body, and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the  industry  of  others.  There  are 
multitudes  of  young  men,  I  suppose,  who  indulge  in  dreams  of 
help  from  some  quarter,  coming  in  at  a  convenient  moment, 
to  enable  them  to  secure  the  success  in  life  which  they  covet. 
The  vision  haunts  them  of  some  benevolent  old  gentleman  with 
a  pocket  full  of  money,  a  trunk  full  of  mortgages  and  stock,  and 
a  mind  remarkably  appreciative  of  merit  and  genius,  who  will, 
perhaps,  give  or  lend  them  anywhere  from  ten  to  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars,  with  which  they  will  commence  and  go  on  swim- 
mingly ;  perhaps  he  w^ill  take  a  different  turn,  and  educate  them. 
Or,  perhaps,  with  an  eye  to  the  sacred  profession,  they  desire  to 
become  the  beneficiaries  of  some  benevolent  societv,  or  some 
gentle  circle  of  female  devotees. 

To  me,  one  of  the  most  disgusting  sights  in  the  world  is  that 
of  a  young  man,  with  healthy  blood,  broad  shoulders,  presentable 
calves,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  (more  or  less)  of  good 
bone  and  nniscle,  standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  longing 
for  help.  I  admit  that  there  are  positions  in  which  the  most 
independent  spirit  may  accept  of  assistance — may,  in  fact,  as  a 
choice  of  evils,  desire  it ;  but  for  a  man  who  is  able  to  help  him- 
self, to  desire  the  help  of  others  in  the  accomplishment  of  his 
plans  of  life,  is  positive  proof  that  he  has  received  a  most  unfortu- 
nate training,  or  that  there  is  a  leaven  of  meanness  in  his  com- 
position that  should  make  him  shudder.  Do  not  misunderstand 
me  :  I  would  not  inculcate  that  pride  of  personal  independence 
which  repels  in  its  sensitiveness  the  well-meant  good  offices  and 
benefactions  of  friends,  or  that  resorts  to  desperate  shifts  rather 
than  incur  an  obligation.  What  I  condemn  in  a  young  man  is 
the  love  of  dependence — the  willingness  to  be  under  obligation 
for  that  which  his  own  efforts  may  win.^ 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


250 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


This  notion  that  wealth  brings  immunity  from  industry  is  the 
ruin  of  thousands  every  year.     I  do  not  intend  to  convey  the 
idea  that  this  man's  chiklren  shall  all  work  in  the  same  way  that 
he  has  done,  hut  that  neither  girls  nor  boys  of  his  shall  ever 
receive  the  impression  that  they  can  live  reputably  or  happily 
without  the  systematic  and  useful  employment  of  their  minds,  or 
their  hands,  or  both.     Let  him  give  them  all  a  better  education 
than  he  had,  and  subject  them  to  the  same  rigid  rules  of  labor 
and   discipline   which   are   applied   to  their  poorer  classmates. 
Above  all  things,  they  should  be  taught  that  they  must  rely  upon 
themselves  for  their  position  in  the  world,  and  that  all  children 
are  mean-spirited  and  contemptible  who  base  their  respectability 
on  the  wealth  of  their  father.     Let  him  give  all  his  boys  a  busi- 
ness, and  assist  them  in  it  sparingly  and  with  great  discrimina- 
tion.    Let  no  son  of  his  "  lie  down  ''  on  him,  but  make  all  the 
help  he  gives  him  depend  upon  his  personal  worthiness  to  receive 
it.     Money  won  without  effort  is  but  little  prized,  and  he  may 
be  sure  that  he  will  get  few  thanks  from  his  children  for  releas- 
ing them  from  the  necessity  of  industry.     Nobody  knows  better 
than  he  how  necessary  industry  is  to  the  comfort  and  pleasure 
of  living;  and  it  should  be  his  special  care,  in  all  his  schemes  for 
spending   money   upon  his   family,  that  these  schemes  should 
involve  family  employment  or  improvement.     Better  a  thousand 
times  throw  his  money  into  the  river  than  permit  it  to  spoil  his 
children.^ 

What  most  men  covet — wealth,  distinction,  power — 

Are  baubles  nothing  worth  ;  they  only  serve 

To  rouse  us  up,  as  children  at  the  school 

Are  roused  up  to  exertion.     Our  reward 

Is  in  the  race  we  run,  not  in  the  prize. 

Those  few,  to  whom  is  given  what  they  ne'er  earned, 

Having  by  favor  or  inheritance 


ilbid. 


MEANS. 

The  dangerous  gifts  placed  in  their  hands, 
Know  not,  nor  ever  can,  the  generous  pride 
That  glows  in  him  who  on  himself  relies, 
Entering  the  lists  of  life.     He  speeds  beyond 
Them  all,  and  foremost  in  the  race  succeeds. 
His  joy  is  not  that  he  has  got  his  crown. 
But  that  the  power  to  win  the  crown  is  his.^ 


251 


What  I  must  do  is  all  that  concerns  me,  not  what  the  people 
think.  This  rule,  equally  arduous  in  actual  and  in  intellectual 
life,  may  serve  for  the  whole  distinction  between  greatness  and 
meanness.  It  is  the  harder,  because  you  will  ahvays  find  those 
who  think  they  know  what  Is  your  duty  better  than  you  know 
it.  It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live  after  the  world's  opinion  ;  it 
is  easy  in  solitude  to  live  after  our  own ;  but  the  great  man  is  he 
who,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  keeps  with  perfect  sweetness  the 
independence  of  solitude.  ...  It  is  only  as  a  man  puts  off 
all  foreign  support,  and  stands  alone,  that  I  see  him  to  be  strong 
and  to  prevail.  He  is  weaker  by  every  recruit  to  his  banner. 
.  .  .  A  political  victory,  a  rise  of  rents,  the  recovery  of  your 
sick,  or  the  return  of  your  absent  friend,  or  some  other  favorable 
event,  raises  your  spirits,  and  you  think  good  days  are  preparing 
for  you.  Do  not  believe  it ;  nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but 
yourself;  nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  the  triumph  of  prin- 
ciples.^ 

It  is  not  by  self-respect  and  self-reliance  that  men  get  the 
reputation  of  being  wise  and  prudent,  but  by  subordination,  by 
a  cringing  deference  to  public  opinion  ;  not  by  giving  weight  to 
superior  personal  qualities  of  other  men,  but  to  superior  wealth, 
station,  or  great  renown.  When,  some  years  ago,  a  young  minis- 
ter said  some  words  that  rung  in  the  churches,  the  criticism  made 
on  him  was,  that  he  was  not  thirty  years  old.     It  is  common  for 


1  Rogers. 


8  Emerson, 


252 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


253 


young  men  to  postpone  becoming  true  to  their  convictions  until 
rich  and  well  known.     That  is  to  put  it  off  forever.     Suppose 
Paul  had  waited  until  he  was  rich,  or  until  he  Avas  a  great  and 
famous  Rabbi,  before  he  told  men  that  Christianity  alone  was 
the  law  of  the  spirit  of  life — how  long  had  he  waited,  and  what 
had  he  done?     Suppose  Jesus,  when  about  thirty,  had  said  :  ^^  It 
will  never  do  for  a  young  man  like  me  to  respect  my  soul  now; 
I  must  wait  till  I  am  old.     Did  not  Moses  wait  till  he  was  four- 
score before  he  said  a  word  to  his  countrymen  about  leaving 
Egypt  ?'' — what  would  have  become  of  him  ?     Why,  the  Spirit 
of  God  that  irradiated  his  vast  soul  would  have  gone  off  and 
perched  itself  on  the  mouth  of  some  babe  or  suckling,  who  would 
have  welcomed  the  great  revelation,  and  spread  it  abroad  like 
the  genial  sun.     Do  you  think  that  Simon  Peter  and  John  and 
James  and  Joseph  would  have  been  more  likely  to  accept  Christi- 
anitv,  if  thev  had  been  rich  and  famous,  and  old  men?     As  well 
might  the  young  camel  have  waited  till  he  was  old  and  fat  and 
stiff,  in  hopes  to  go  the  easier  through  the  needle's  eye.^ 

Method. — The  habit  of  method  is  essential  to  all  who  have 
much  work  to  do,  if  they  would  get  through  it  easily  and  with 
economy  of  time.  Fuller,  the  old  divine,  says  to  those  who 
would  remember  what  they  read :  "  Marshal  thy  notions  into  a 
handsome  method.  One  will  carry  twice  more  weight  trussed 
and  packed  up  in  bundles,  than  when  it  lies  untowardly  flapping 
and  hanging  about  his  shoulders."  Cecil,  who  was  a  prodigious 
w^orker,  has  a  similar  hint.  ''  Method,"  he  says,  ''  is  like  pack- 
ing things  in  a  box ;  a  good  packer  will  get  in  half  as  much 
again  as  a  bad  one."  The  biographer  of  Noah  Webster  tells  us 
that  ''  method  was  the  presiding  principle  of  his  life;"  and  it  is 
evident  that  without  it  he  never  could  have  got  through  with 
the  herculean  task  of  compiling  his  great  dictionar}\     Coleridge, 


though  himself  one  of  the  most  immcthodical  of  men,  yet 
thought  so  highly  of  method  that  he  wrote  a  treatise  on  it  for 
the  Encyclopaedia  Metropolitana.  It  is  said  that  Whitfield  could 
not  go  to  sleep  at  night  if,  after  retiring,  he  remembered  that  his 
gloves  and  riding-whip  were  not  in  their  usual  place,  where  he 
could  lay  his  hands  upon  them  in  the  dark,  or  in  any  emergency. 
Xapoleon,  who  astonished  the  sovereigns  of  Europe  at  the  Con- 
gress of  Erfurt  by  the  minuteness  of  his  knowledge  of  historic 
dates,  was  an  eminently  systematic  man.  He  used  to  say  that 
his  knowledge  was  all  deposited  in  drawers,  and  he  had  only  to 
open  a  particular  drawer,  and  all  that  he  had  learned  on  a  sub- 
ject was  ready  to  his  hand. 

There  is  no  business  which  does  not  demand  system.  The 
meanest  trade  exacts  it,  and  will  go  to  ruin  without  it.  But  in 
a  complicated  business  it  is  indispensable.  It  is  this  that  binds 
all  its  parts  together,  and  gives  unity  to  all  its  details.  Without 
it,  the  vast  energies  of  the  great  merchant,  who  gathers  and  dis- 
tributes the  products  of  every  clime,  linking  the  four  quarters 
of  the  globe  by  his  far-reaching  agencies,  would  be  an  impossi- 
bility. Commissioners  of  insolvency  say  that  the  books  of  nine 
bankrupts  out  of  ten  are  found  to  be  in  a  muddle — kept  without 
plan  or  method.  Let  every  young  man,  therefore,  see  to  it  that 
his  w^ork  is  systematized — arranged  according  to  a  carefully 
studied  method,  which  takes  up  everything  at  the  right  time  and 
applies  to  it  adequate  resources.  It  is  easy,  of  course,  to  sneer 
at  "red  tape."  In  the  sense  of  a  mere  dead  and  meaningless 
routine,  it  merits  all  the  contempt  poured  upon  it.  The  mere 
formalist,  with  his  cast-iron  rules  that  never  bend  to  circum- 
stances, is  a  poor  creature.  Method  Avithout  flexibility,  which 
ceases  to  be  a  means,  and  becomes  an  end,  proves  a  hinderance 
rather  than  a  help ;  and  he  who,  forgetting  its  inner  meaning, 


1  Parker. 


254 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


255 


becomes  its  slave,  shows  a  narrowness  of  mind  which  is  unfitted 
for  great  and  comprehensive  enterprises.  But  an  intelligent 
method,  which  surveys  the  whole  work  before  it,  and  assigns  the 
several  parts  to  distinct  times  and  agents,  which  adapts  itself  to 
exigencies,  and  keeps  ever  in  its  eye  the  object  to  be  attained,  is 
one  of  the  most  powerful  instruments  of  human  labor.  The 
professional  or  business  man  who  despises  it  will  never  do  any- 
thing well.  It  matters  not  how  clever  or  brilliant  he  is,  or  how 
fertile  in  expedients,  if  he  has  work  without  system,  catching  up 
whatever  is  nearest  at  hand,  or  trying  to  do  half  a  dozen  things 
at  once,  he  will  sooner  or  later  come  to  grief.  Not  only  in  the 
less  intellectual  callings,  but  in  the  learned  professions,  the  mere 
plodder  who  "pegs  aw^ay"  with  steady,  methodical  industry, 
will  outstrip  him  in  the  end.^ 

Method  is  essential,  and  enables  a  larger  amount  of  work  to  be 
got  through  with  satisfaction.  "  Method,'^  said  Cecil  (afterward 
Lord  Burleigh),  "  is  like  packing  things  in  a  box ;  a  good 
packer  will  get  in  half  as  much  again  as  a  bad  one."  Cecil's 
dispatch  of  business  was  extraordinary,  his  maxim  being,  "  The 
shortest  way  to  do  many  things  is  to  do  only  one  thing  at  once;'' 
and  he  never  left  a  thing  undone  with  a  view  of  recurring  to  it 
at  a  period  of  more  leisure.  When  business  pressed,  he  rather 
chose  to  encroach  on  his  hours  of  meals  and  rest  than  omit  any 
part  of  his  w^ork.  De  Witt's  maxim  w^as  like  Cecil's:  "One 
thing  at  a  time."  "  If,"  said  he,  "  I  have  any  necessary  dis- 
patches to  make,  I  think  of  nothing  else  till  they  are  finished ; 
if  any  domestic  affairs  require  my  attention,  I  give  myself 
wholly  up  to  them  till  they  are  set  in  order."  ^ 

What  is  that  which  first  strikes  us,  and  strikes  us  at  once,  in  a 
man  of  education,  and  which,  among  educated  men,  so  instantly 
distinguishes  the  man  of  superior  mind,  that  (as  was  observed 


1  Mathews. 


2  Smiles. 


with  eminent  propriety  of  the  late  Edmund  Burke)  "  we  can  not 
stand  under  the  same  archway  during  a  shower  of  rain,  without 
finding  him  out  ?"  Not  the  weight  or  novelty  of  his  remarks  ; 
not  any  unusual  interest  of  facts  communicated  by  him  ;  for  we 
may  suppose  both  the  one  and  the  other  precluded  by  the  short- 
ness of  our  intercourse,  and  the  triviality  of  the  subjects.  The 
difference  will  be  impressed  and  felt,  though  the  conversation 
should  be  confined  to  the  state  of  the  weather  or  the  pavement. 
Still  less  will  it  arise  from  any  peculiarity  in  his  words  and 
phrases.  For  if  he  be,  as  we  now  assume,  a  well  educated  man 
as  well  as  a  man  of  superior  powers,  he  will  not  fail  to  follow 
the  golden  rule  of  Julius  Caesar,  insolens  verhum^  tanquam  scopu- 
luniy  cvitare.  Unless  where  new  things  necessitate  new  terms, 
he  will  avoid  an  unusual  word  as  a  rock.  It  must  have  been 
among  the  earliest  lessons  of  his  youth,  that  the  breach  of  this 
precept,  at  all  times  hazardous,  becomes  ridiculous  in  the  topics 
of  ordinary  conversation.  There  remains  but  one  other  point  of 
distinction  possible ;  and  this  must  be,  and  in  fact  is,  the  true 
cause  of  the  impression  made  on  us.  It  is  the  unpremeditated  and 
evidently  habitual  arrangement  of  his  w^ords,  grounded  on  the 
habit  of  foreseeing,  in  each  integral  part,  or  (more  plainly)  in 
every  sentence,  the  whole  that  he  then  intends  to  communicate. 
How^ever  irregular  and  desultory  his  talk,  there  is  method  in  the 
fragments.  / 

Listen,  on  the  other  hand,  to  an  ignorant  man,  though  per- 
haps shrewd  and  able  in  his  particular  calling,  whether  he  be 
describing  or  relating.  We  immediately  perceive,  that  his  mem- 
ory alone  is  called  into  action ;  and  that  the  objects  and  events 
recur  in  the  narration  in  the  same  order,  and  with  the  same 
accompaniments,  however  accidental  or  impertinent,  in  which 
they  had  first  occurred  to  the  narrator.     The  necessity  of  taking 


I 


256 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


breath,  the  efforts  of  recollection,  and  tlic  abrupt  rectification  of 
its  faihires,  produce  all  his  pauses;  and  with  exception  of  the 
"  and  then/'  the  ^^  and  there,"  and  the  still  less  significant,  "  and 
so,"  thev  constitute  likewise  all  his  connections. 

Our  discussion,  however,  is  confined  to  method  as  employed  in 
the  formation  of  tlie  understanding,  and  in  the  constructions  of 
science  and  literature.  It  woukl  indeed  be  superfluous  to  attempt 
a  proof  of  its  importance  in  the  business  and  economy  of  active 
or  domestic  life.  From  the  cotter's  hearth  or  the  workshop  of 
the  artisan  to  the  palace  or  the  arsenal,  the  first  merit,  that  which 
admits  neither  substitute  nor  equivalent,  is,  that  everything  be  in 
its  place.  When  this  charm  is  wanting,  every  other  merit  either 
loses  its  name,  or  becomes  an  additional  ground  of  accusation  and 
regret.  Of  one,  by  whom  it  is  eminently  possessed,  we  say  pro- 
verbiallv,  he  is  like  clock-work.  The  resemblance  extends  bevond 
the  point  of  regularity,  and  yet  falls  short  of  the  truth.  Both  do, 
indeed,  at  once  divide  and  announce  the  silent  and  otherwise  indis- 
tinguishable  lapse  of  time.  But  the  man  of  methodical  industry 
and  honorable  pursuits  does  more ;  he  realizes  its  ideal  divisions, 
and  gives  a  character  and  individuality  to  its  moments.  If  the 
idle  are  described  as  killing  time,  he  may  be  justly  said  to  call  it 
into  life  and  moral  being,  while  he  makes  it  the  distinct  object 
not  only  of  the  consciousness,  but  of  the  conscience.  He  organ- 
izes the  hours,  and  gives  them  a  soul ;  and  that,  the  very  essence 
of  which  is  to  fleet  aw^ay,  and  evermore  to  have  been,  he  takes 
up  into  his  own  permanence,  and  communicates  to  it  the  imper- 
ishableness  of  a  spiritual  nature.  Of  the  good  and  faithful 
servanty  ^vhose  energies,  thus  directed,  are  thus  methodized,  it 
is  less  truly  affirmed,  that  he  lives  in  time,  than  that  time  lives 
in  him.  His  days,  months,  and  years,  as  the  stops  and  punctual 
marks  in  the  record  of  duties  performed,  will  survive  the  wreck 


MEANS. 


257 


of   worlds,   and   remain   extant  when    time    itself   shall    be   no 
raore.^ 

Economy. — Economy  is  a  distributive  virtue,  and  consists, 
not  in  saving,  but  in  selection.  Parsimony  requires  no  j)rovi- 
dence,  no  sagacity,  no  powers  of  combination,  no  comparison,  no 
judgment.  Mere  instinct — and  that  not  an  instinct  of  the 
noblest  kind — may  produce  this  false  economy  in  perfection. 
The  other  cconomv  has  larg-er  views.  It  demands  a  discrimi- 
nating  judgment  and  a  firm,  sagacious  mind.  It  shuts  one  door 
to  impudent  importunity,  only  to  open  another  and  a  wider  to 
unpresuming  merit.^ 

Economy  is  the  parent  of  integrity,  of  liberty,  and  of  ease,  and 
the  beauteous  sister  of  temperance,  of  cheerfulness,  and  health  ; 
and  profuseness  is  a  cruel  and  crafty  demon,  that  gradually 
involves  her  followers  in  dependence  and  debts — that  is,  fetters 
them  with  irons  that  enter  into  their  souls.^ 

Let  us  learn  the  meaning  of  economy.  Economy  is  a  high, 
humane  office — a  sacrament,  when  its  aim  is  grand ;  when  it  is 
the  prudence  of  simple  tastes ;  when  it  is  practised  for  freedom, 
or  love,  or  devotion.  Much  of  the  economv  which  we  see  in 
houses  is  of  a  base  origin,  and  is  best  kept  out  of  sight.  Parched 
corn  eaten  to-day,  that  I  may  have  roast  fowl  to  ray  dinner  on 
Sunday,  is  a  baseness ;  but  parched  corn  and  a  house  with  one 
apartment,  that  I  may  be  free  of  all  perturbations,  that  I  may 
be  serene  and  docile  to  what  the  mind  shall  speak,  and  girt  and 
road-ready  for  the  lowest  mission  of  knowledge  or  good-will, 
is  frugality  for  gods  and  heroes.'* 

There  is  no  workingman  in  good  health  who  may  not  become 

independent,  if  he  will  but  carefully  husband  his  receipts  and 

guard  jealously  against  the  little  leaks  of  useless  expenditure. 

But,  to  become  independent,  one  must  be  willing  to  pay  the 
18 

1  Coleridge.  2  Burke.  »  Johnson.  *  Emerson. 


258 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


price.  He  must  be  industrious,  and  lie  must  be  prudent.  Per- 
haps the  hardest  of  these  rules  to  follow  is  the  latter.  There  are 
a  hundred  persons  who  can  work  hard  to  every  ten  who  can 
properly  husband  their  earnings.  The  classes  that  toll  the  hard- 
est squander  most  recklessly  the  money  they  earn.  Instead  of 
hoarding  their  receipts,  so  as  to  provide  against  sickness  or  Avant 
of  employment,  they  eat  and  drink  up  their  earnings  as  they  go, 
and  thus  in  the  first  financial  crisis,  when  mills  and  factories  stop, 
and  capitalists  lock  up  their  cash  instead  of  using  it  in  great 
enterprises,  they  are  ruined.  Men  who  thus  live  "  from  hand 
to  mouth,"  never  keeping  more  than  a  day^s  march  ahead  of 
actual  want,  are  little  better  off  than  slaves.  They  are  not  their 
own  masters,  but  may  have  at  any  moment  to  choose  between 
the  alternatives  of  bondage  or  starvation.  They  can  not  help 
being  servile,  for  they  know  they  can  neither  command  their 
time  nor  choose  how  and  w^here  they  shall  live. 

To  one  who  has  seen  much  of  the  miseries  of  the  poor,  it  is 
hard  to  account  for  this  short-sightedness  of  conduct;  but, 
doubtless,  the"  main  cause  is  the  contempt  with  which  they  are 
wont  to  look  upon  petty  savings.  Ask  those  who  spend  all  as 
they  go  why  they  do  not  put  by  a  fraction  of  their  daily  earnings, 
and  they  will  reply  :  "  That's  of  no  use  ;  what  good  can  the  sav- 
ing of  a  few  cents  a  day  or  an  occasional  dollar  do?  If  I  could 
lay  by  four  or  five  dollars  a  week,  that  would  ultimately  amount 
to  something."  It  is  by  this  thoughtless  reasoning  that  thou- 
sands are  kept  steeped  to  the  lips  in  poverty-,  who,  by  a  moderate 
degree  of  self-denial,  might  place  themselves  in  a  state  of  comfort 
and  independence,  if  not  of  affluence.  They  do  not  consider  to 
what  enormous  sums  little  savings  and  little  spendings  swell,  at 
last,  when  continued- through  a  long  series  of  years. 

What  laborer  is  there  in  good  health  who  may  not  save  from 


MEANS. 


259 


his  earnings  fifty  dollars  a  year?     Yet  this  paltry  sum,  com- 
pounded at  six  per  cent,  interest,  amounts  to  $650  in  ten  vears 
$1,8G0  in  twenty,  $3,950  in  thirty  years,  and  $7,700  in   forty 
years,  thus  securing  a  snug  provision  for  old  age  by  the  saving 
of  less  than  fourteen  cents  per  day  !     How  imperceptibly  may  this 
last  su»n,  or  one  twice  as  great,  slip  through  one's  fingers  in  the 
gratification  of  habits  worse  than  useless,  without  a  thouo-ht  of 
the  vast  aggregate  to  which  it  finally  amounts  !     What  clerk  or 
workingman,  that  spends  twenty  cents  a  day  for  a  couple  of 
cigars,  dreams  that  by  this  expenditure,  with  the  accumulated 
interest,  he  will  in  fifty  years  have  smoked  away  twenty  thousand 
dollars?     Yet  a  man  who  by  a  life  of  industrv  had  laid  by  such 
a  sum  would,  in  most  country  towns,  be  deemed  rich.     It  is  a 
hard  thing  to  begin  the  w^orld  without  a  dollar  :  and  vet  hun- 
dreds  of  men,  by  petty  savings  at  the  outset  of  their  career,  have 
amassed  large  fortunes  from  a  single  shilling.     Among  the  capi- 
talists in  one  of  our  large  cities  some  years  ago  was  a  builder, 
worth,  probably,  some  hundreds  of  thousands,  who  began  life  as 
a  bricklayer's  laborer  at  a  dollar  a  day.     Out  of  that  sum  he  con- 
trived to  save  fifty  cents  a  day,  and  at  the  end  of  the  fii-st  year 
had  laid   np  $182,  from  which  moment  his  fortune  w\as  made. 
Like  a  hound  upon  the  right  scent,  he  Avas  on  the  track  of  riches, 
and  the  game,  sooner  or  later  won,  was  sure  to  be  his  own.     Of 
a  leading  firm   in  New  York  City,  which  some  years  ago  had 
accumulated  an  immense  property,  it  is  stated  that  both  members 
came  to  that  city  without  a  cent,  and  swept  the  very  shop  wherein 
they  afterward  made  their  fortunes.     Like  the  builder,  thev  had 
an   indomitable  spirit  of  Industry,  perseverance,  and  frugality, 
and  so  the  first  dollar  became  the  foundation  of  a  million. 

The  persons  who  despise  small  savings  as  unworthy  of  their 
care  are  ignorant  of  the  main  object  of  making  them   in  early 


260 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


life,  which  looks  not  chiefly  to  the  saving  itself,  but  to  the  forma- 
tion of  a  habit  of  economy.     It  is  true,  the  saving  of  a  few  cents 
is  in  itself  of  little  moment ;  but  if  the  habit  of  saving  a  penny  or 
two,  whether   in  money  or  any  other  kind   of  property,   once 
becomes  fixed,  and  the  thoughts  be  turned  in  the   direction  of 
advancement,  the  accumulation  will  go  on  and  be  ultimately  suc- 
cessful.    Hence  it  has  been  wisely  said  that  there  is  no  revolu- 
tion in  the  history  of  a  man  so  important  in  its  consequences  as 
that  which  takes  place  at  the  moment  of  the  first  saving.     As  it 
is  the  minutes  that  make  the  hours,  so  it  is  the  pennies  that  make 
the  pounds,  the  cents  that  make  the  dollars ;  and  he  who  scrupu- 
lously economizes  the  former  need  give  himself  no  concern  about 
the  latter,  for  the  habit  of  looking  sharply  after  them  will  have 
insensibly  formed  itself.     It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  beginning 
of  a  deposit,  however  small,  in  a  savings  bank  may  be  regarded 
as  the  crisis  of  many  a  moral  destiny ;  for  from  that  moment  the 
person  ceases   to  be  a   slavish  dependent,  without  manliness  or 
self-respect,  and  becomes  a  free,  independent,  self-relying  man, 
who  is  under  no  bondage  but  that  of  kindness  to  his  fellows,  of 
which  he  now  has  the  means. 

"Whatever  your  means  be,''  says  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer 
in  an  excellent  essay  upon  "  The  Management  of  Money,"  "  so 
apportion  your  w^ants  that  your  menus  may  exceed  them.  Every 
man  who  earns  but  ten  shillings  a  week  can  do  this  if  he  please, 
whatever  he  may  say  to  the  contrary;  for,  if  he  can  live  upon 
ten  shillings  a  week,  he  can  live  upon  nine  and  elevenpence.  In 
this  rule  mark  the  emphatic  distinction  between  poverty  and 
neediness.  Poverty  is  relative,  and  therefore  not  ignoble.  Needi- 
ness  is  a  positive  degradation.  If  I  have  only  £100  a  year,  I  am 
rich  as  compared  with  the  majority  of  my  countrymen.  If  I 
have  £5,000  a  year,  I  may  be  poor  compared  with  the  majority 


MEANS. 


261 


of  my  associates,  and  very  poor  compared  to  my  next-door 
neighbor.  With  either  of  these  incomes  I  am  relatively  poor  or 
rich  ;  but  with  either  of  these  incomes  I  may  be  positively  needy 
or  positively  free  from  neediness.  With  the  £100  a  year  I  may 
need  no  man's  help  ;  I  may  at  least  have  ^  my  crust  of  bread  and 
liberty.'  But  with  £5,000  a  year  I  may  dread  a  ring  at  my  bell ; 
I  may  have  my  tyrannical  masters  in  servants  whose  wages  I  can 
not  pay  ;  my  exile  may  be  at  the  fiat  of  the  first  long-suifering  man 
who  enters  a  judgment  against  me ;  for  the  flesh  that  lies  nearest 
my  h?art  some  Shylock  may  be  dusting  his  scales  and  whetting 
his  knife.  Nor  is  this  an  exaggeration.  Some  of  the  neediest 
men  I  ever  knew  have  a  nominal  £5,000  a  year.  Every  man 
is  needy  who  spends  more  than  he  has;  no  man  is  needy  who 
spends  less.  I  may  s)  ill  manage  my  money,  that  with  £5,000  a 
year,  I  purchase  the  worst  evils  of  poverty — terror  and  shame ; 
I  may  so  well  manage  my  money,  that,  with  £100  a  year,  I  pur- 
chase the  best  blessings  of  wealth — safety  and  respect." 

One  of  the  reasons  why  many  persons  refuse  to  practice  econ- 
omy is  that  it  is  associated  in  their  minds  with  meanness.  They 
look  upon  it  as  degrading  to  a  man  of  spirit  and  lofty  impulses; 
as  the  virtue  of  little,  contracted  minds.  No  doubt  the  practice 
of  saving  may  be  carried  too  far.  It  is  said  that  the  Earl  of 
Westminster,  who  owns  a  park  ten  miles  long  and  has  an  income 
of  four  million  dollars  a  year,  once  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
when  riding  out,  on  missing  a  button  from  his  coat,  and  retraced 
his  steps  for  some  distance  till  he  found  it.  The  expediency  of 
such  savings  may  be  questioned.  Dr.  Johnson  once  said,  that 
"he  who  drinks  beer,  thinks  beer;"  and  it  is  equally  true  that 
those  who  occupy  themselves  with  endless  cares  for  small  savings 
get  "  to  think  candle-ends  "  as  their  reward.  It  has  been  justly 
doubted  whether,  among  the  classes  of  men  who,  whether  they 


262 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


263 


are  economical  or  not,  are  sure  never  to  go  to  bed  hungry,  there 
is  anything  in  the  accumulation  of  money  to  compc^asate  for  the 
deterioration  of  mind  and  feeling  which  is  almost  sure  to  accom- 
pany the  pursuit  of  so  trumpery  an  end  as  screwing  fourpence  a 
week  out  of  the  butter  bill.  But  economy  is  a  wholly  different 
thing  from  penuriousness  ;  so  different,  indeed,  that  it  is  only  the 
economical  man  who  can  afford  to  be  liberal,  or  even  to  live  with 
ease  and  magnanimity.^ 

Minute  Faithfulness. — In  one  sense,  and  that  deep,  thej:e 
is  no  such  thing  as  magnitude.  The  least  thing  is  as  the  greatest, 
and  one  day  as  a  thousand  years,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Maker 
of  great  and  small  things.  In  another  sense,  and  that  close 
to  us  and  necessary,  there  exist  both  magnitude  and  value. 
Though  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  unnoted,  there  are  yet 
creatures  who  are  of  more  value  than  many  ;  and  the  same  Spirit 
which  weighs  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a  balance,  counts  the  isles 
as  a  little  thing. 

The  just  temper  of  human  mind  in  this  matter  may,  neverthe- 
less, be  told  shortly.  Greatness  can  only  be  rightly  estimated 
when  minuteness  is  justly  reverenced.  Greatness  is  the  aggre- 
gation of  minuteness ;  nor  can  its  sublimity  be  felt  truthfully 
by  any  mind  unaccustomed  to  the  affectionate  watching  of  what 
is  least. 

But  if  this  affection  for  the  least  be  unaccompanied  by  the 
powers  of  comparison  and  reflection  ;  if  it  be  intemperate  in  its 
thirst,  restless  in  curiosity,  and  incapable  of  the  patient  and  self- 
commandant  pause  which  is  wise  to  arrange,  and  submissive  to 
refuse,  it  will  close  the  paths  of  noble  art  to  the  student  as  effect- 
ually, and  hopelessly,  as  even  the  blindness  of  pride,  or  impa- 
tience of  ambition.- 

Do  nothing  as  if  it  were   trifling ;  to  call  it  so  may  be  the 


greatest  mistake  of  your  being.  In  everything  have  the  one 
aim — Heaven.  Slur  no  part  of  your  work.  Minute  faithful- 
ness is  needed  every  moment.  A  favorite  flower  has  the  garden- 
er's thouMits  from  the  first ;  whatever  will  tell  on  the  symmetry, 
tints,  and  size  of  the  blossoms,  is  Avcighed  and  cared  for.  The 
soil  is  mixed  and  sifted,  perhaps  gathered  from  distant  parts; 
mouldered  turf,  the  black  earth  of  a  mountain  moor,  the  silver 
sand  of  a  far-off  bed,  the  forcing  strength  of  far-fetched  enrich- 
ments. He  covers  it  by  night,  sliades  it  by  day,  keeps  off  all 
weeds,  watches  each  leaf  that  no  spoiler  mar  it,  removes  each 
defect,  waters  it  with  a  tender  care,  is  never  weary  in  his  loving 
labors.  If  all  this,  for  a  flower  that  blows  only  to  fade,  the 
very  type  of  evanescence,  what  shall  we  do  for  that  true  "Ever- 
lasting," the  heavenly  amaranth — Life,  whose  blossoms  may  be 
sunbright  in  Paradise?^ 

Sedulous  attention  and  painstaking  industry  always  mark  the 
true  worker.  The  greatest  men  are  not  those  who  "  desj)ise  the 
day  of  small  things,''  but  those  who  improve  them  the  most 
carefully.  Michael  Angelo  was  one  day  explaining  to  a  visitor 
at  his  studio  what  he  had  been  doing  at  a  statue  since  his  previ- 
ous visit.  "  I  have  retouched  this  part — polished  that — softened 
this  ftaUire — brought  out  that  muscle — given  some  expression  to 
this  lip,  and  more  energy  to  that  limb."  "  But  these  are  trifles," 
remarked  the  visitor.  '^  It  may  be  so,"  replied  the  sculptor, 
"  but  recollect  that  trifles  make  perfection,  and  perfection  is  no 
trifle.'^  So  it  was  said  of  Nicholas  Poussin,  the  painter,  that  the 
rule  of  his  conduct  was,  that  "whatever  was  worth  doing  at  all 
was  worth  doing  well;"  and  when  asked,  late  in  life,  by  his 
friend  Vigneul  de  Marville,  by  what  means  he  had  gained  so 
high  a  reputation  among  the  painters  of  Italy,  Poussin  emphat- 
ically ans^vered,  "Because  I  have  neglected  nothing."^ 


W^ 


1  Mathews. 


2  Ruskin. 


iQeikie. 


2  Smiles. 


264 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


In  the  case  of  gifted  men,  especially,  wliat  cause  of  failure  do 
we  find  more  fruitful  or  frequent  than  that  here  indicated — the 
contempt  of  details?  Their  souls  fire  with  lofty  conceptions  of 
some  work  to  he  achieved ;  their  minds  warm  with  enthusiasm 
as  they  contemplate  the  object  already  attained ;  but,  when  they 
begin  to  put  the  scheme  into  execution,  they  turn  away  in  dis- 
gust from  the  dry  minutise  and  vulgar  drudgery  which  are 
required  for  its  perfection.  Hence  the  world  is  full  of  mute, 
inglorious  Miltons,  who  languish  not  from  lack  of  talents,  but 
because,  in  spite  of  their  many  brilliant  parts,  they  lack  some- 
thing which  the  famous  possess.  Some  little  defect  mars  all 
their  excellencies,  and  they  hang  fire.  They  are  like  Swift^s 
dancing-master,  who  had  every  qualification  except  that  he  was 
lame.  The  watch  is  nearly  complete;  it  only  lacks  hands.  The 
cannon  is  perfect,  except  it  has  no  touch-hole.  The  mouse-trap 
is  just  the  thing,  but  they  have  forgotten  the  cheese.  Such  men 
bewail  their  fate,  and  so  would  addled  eggs,  if  they  could  speak, 
which  are  so  like  the  rest,  but  so  dishonorably  inferior.  Failing 
to  do  the  small  tasks  of  life  well,  they  have  no  calls  to  higher 
ones,  and  so  they  complain  of  neglect ;  as  if  the  skipper  of  a 
schooner,  on  which  every  rope  was  sagging,  and  every  sail  rot- 
ting, through  his  negligence,  should  complain  of  the  injustice 
done  him  in  not  making  him  commander  of  a  seventy-four! 
The  truth  is,  to  be  successful  in  any  profession,  one  must  have 
what  has  been  called  "  an  almost  ignominious  love  of  details.^' 
It  is  an  element  of  effectiveness  with  which  no  reach  of  plan,  no 
loftiness  of  design,  no  enthusiasm  of  purpose,  can  dispense.  It 
is  this  which  makes  the  difference  between  the  practical  man, 
who  pushes  his  thought  to  a  useful  result,  and  the  mere  dreamer; 
between  the  Stephenson,  who  created  a  working  locomotive 
engine,  and  his  predecessors,  who  conceived  the  idea  of  it,  but 


MEANS. 


265 


could  not  put  their  thought  into  execution.  In  literature  it  is 
the  conscientious  and  laborious  attention  to  details — nicety  in 
the  selection  and  arrangement  of  words,  even  particles — that 
distinguishes  a  masterpiece  of  composition  from  a  merely  clever 
])erformance.  So,  too,  in  art.  Whoever  has  looked  over  the 
collections  of  drawings  of  the  old  masters  must  have  been  most 
deej^ly  impressed  by  the  slow  growth  of  their  works,  owing  to 
their  conscientious  nicety  about  little  things.  In  nothing  do 
they  differ  more  from  common  painters  than  in  their  almost  end- 
less dwelling  upon  some  small  detail — a  foot,  or  a  hand,  or  a 
face — fashioning  and  refashioning  it,  but  never  once  losing  sight 
of  the  orl2:inal  Idea.^ 

Little  faithfulnesses  :  it  is  all  the  more  necessary  for  us  to  con- 
template them,  because  it  is  not  these  in  general  which  men  ven- 
erate or  admire.  We  praise  the  high,  the  splendid,  the  heroic; 
we  dwell  on  the  great  deeds,  on  the  glorious  sacrifices.  When 
you  read  how  the  lady  of  the  house  of  Douglas  thrust  her  own 
arm  through  the  bolt-grooves  of  the  door  and  let  the  murderers 
break  it  while  her  king  had  time  to  hide;  or  how  the  pilot  of 
Lake  Eric  stood  undaunted  upon  the  burning  deck,  and,  reckless 
of  the  intense  agony,  steered  the  crew  safe  to  the  jetty,  and  then 
fell  dead  among  the  crackling  flames ;  or  how  the  Kussian  serf, 
to  save  his  master  and  his  master's  children,  sprang  out  from  the 
sledge  among  the  wolves  that  howled  after  them  through  the 
winter  snow ;  or,  once  more,  how,  amid  the  raging  storm,  the 
young  girl  sat  w^th  her  father  at  the  oar  to  save  the  shipwrecked 
sailors  from  the  shrouds  of  the  shattered  wreck — whose  soul  Is 
so  leaden  that  it  does  not  thrill  with  admiration  at  deeds  like 
these  ?  But  think  you,  my  brethren,  that  these  brave  men  and 
women  sprang,  as  It  w^ere,'  full-sized  into  their  heroic  stature  ? 
Nay  ;    but,  like  the    gorgeous    blossom   of  the  aloe,  elaborated 


1  Mathews. 


26G 


MAN    AND    Ills    DELATIONS. 


through  long  years  of  silent  and  unnoticed  growth,  so  these  deeds 
^vere  but  the  bright,  consummate  flower  borne  l)y  lives  of  quiet, 
faithful,  unrecorded  service.  .  .  .  Observe  the  striking  fact 
that  our  Lord  does  not  sav:  "  He  tliat  is  faithful  in  that  which 
is  least  will  be  faithful  also  in  much,"  but  "  He  that  is  faithful 
in  that  which  is  least  is  faithful  also  in  inuch.^'  The  essential 
fidelity  of  the  heart  is  the  same,  whether  it  be  exercised  in  two 
mites  or  in  a  regal  treasury;  the  genuine  faithfulness  of  the  life 
is  equally  beautiful,  v.hether  it  be  displayed  in  governing  an 
empire  or  in  writing  an  exercise.  It  has  been  quaintly  said  that 
if  God  were  to  send  two  angels  to  earth,  the  one  to  occupy  a 
throne  and  the  other  to  clean  a  road,  they  would  each  regard 
their  employments  as  equally  distinguished  and  equally  happy. 
In  the  poem  of  Theocrite,  the  Archangel  Gabriel  takes  the  poor 
boy's  place : 

Then  to  his  poor  trade  he  turned, 
By  which  tho  daily  bread  v.as  earned; 
And  ever  o'er  the  trade  he  bent, 
And  ever  lived  on  earth  content ; 
He  did  God's  will — to  him  all  one, 
If  on  the  earth  or  in  the  sun. 


.  .  .  Count  nothing  slight,  says  the  wise  son  of  Sirach, 
w^hether  it  be  great  or  small.  Life  is  made  up  of  little  things, 
just  as  time  at  the  longest  is  but  an  aggregate  of  seconds.  Be  an 
act  ever  so  unimportant,  the  principle  involved  in  our  acts  is  not 
unimportant.  You  say  that  there  is  very  little  harm  in  this  or 
that.  If  there  is  even  a  little  harm  in  it,  then  there  is  great 
harm  in  it.  A  feather  will  show  you  the  direction  of  the  wind; 
a  straw  will  prove  the  set  of  a  current;  and  this  is  Avhy  Christ 
says,  "  Be  ye  perfect. '^  It  is  a  precept  intensely  practical.  No 
day  passes  but  what  we  can  put  it  into  action.     .     .     .     Not  to 


MEANS. 


267 


speak  of  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law,  little  punctualities, 
little  self-denials,  little  honesties,  little  passing  words  of  sympa- 
thy, little  nameless  acts  of  kindness,  little  silent  victories  over 
favorite  temptations — these  are  the  little  threads  of  gold,  which, 
when  woven  together,  gleam  out  so  brightly  in  the  pattern  of  a 
life  that  God  approves.^ 

Integrity. — Remember  that  your  moral  character  is  worth 
more  to  you  than  everything  else,  in  all  your  relationships  in 
life.  Not  only  for  religious  reasons,  but  even  for  the  commonest 
secular  reasons,  this  is  so.  It  is  very  desirable  that  you  should 
have  information ;  it  is  very  desirable  that  you  should  have  a 
skillful  and  nimble  hand  for  the  pursuit  in  which  you  are 
engaged;  it  is  very  desirable  that  you  should  understand  business 
and  men  and  life;  but  it  is  still  more  desirable  that  you  should 
be  a  man  of  integrity — of  strict,  untemptable,  or,  at  least, 
unbreakable  integrity — even  for  civil  and  secular  reasons.  For 
nothing  is  so  much  in  demand  as  simple  untemptability  in  men ; 
nothing  is  in  so  much  demand  as  men  who  are  held,  by  the  fear 
of  God  and  by  the  love  of  rectitude,  to  that  which  is  right. 
Their  price  is  above  rubies.  More  than  wedges  of  gold  are  they 
worth,  and  nowhere  else  are  they  Avorth  so  much  as  in  cities  and 
marts  like  this,  where  so  much  must  be  put  at  stake  upon  the 
fidelity  of  agents.^ 

Honesty  is  the  best  policy,  but  he  who  acts  upon  this  princi- 
ple is  not  an  honest  man.^ 

The  truth  of  the  good  old  maxim,  that  "  Honesty  is  the  best 
policy,"  is  upheld  by  the  daily  experience  of  life,  uprightness 
and  integrity  being  found  as  successful  in  business  as  in  every- 
thing else.     As  Hugh  Miller's  worthy  uncle  used  to  advise  him: 

In  all  your  dealings  give  your  neighbor  the  cast  of  the  bank — 
good  measure,  heaped  up  and  running  over' — and  you  will  not 


1  Farrar. 


2  Beecher. 


swhately. 


268 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


lose  by  it  in  the  end.''  A  well-known  brewer  of  beer  attributed 
his  success  to  the  liberality  with  which  he  used  his  malt.  Going 
up  to  the  vat  and  tasting  it,  he  would  say  :  "  Still  rather  poor, 
my  lads;  give  it  another  cast  of  the  nialt.'^  The  brewer  put  his 
character  into  his  beer,  and  it  proved  generous  accordingly, 
obtaining  a  reputation  in  England,  India,  and  the  colonics,  which 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  large  fortune.  Integrity  of  word  and 
deed  ought  to  be  the  very  corner-stone  of  all  business  transac- 
tions. To  the  tradesman,  the  merchant,  and  manufacturer  it 
should  be  what  honor  is  to  the  soldier,  and  charity  to  the  Chris- 
tian. In  the  humblest  calling  there  will  always  be  found  scope 
for  the  exercise  of  this  uprightness  of  character.  Hugh  Miller 
speaks  of  the  mason  with  whom  he  served  his  apprenticeship  as 
one  who  ''^ put  his  conscience  into  every  stone  that  he  laid."  So 
the  true  mechanic  will  pride  himself  upon  the  thoroughness  and 
solidity  of  his  work,  and  the  high-minded  contractor  upon  the 
honesty  of  performance  of  his  contract  in  every  particular.  The 
upright  manufacturer  will*  find  not  only  honor  and  reputation, 
but  substantial  success,  in  the  genuineness  of  the  article  which 
he  produces,  and  the  merchant  in  the  honesty  of  what  he  sells, 
and  that  it  really  is  what  it  seems  to  be.  Baron  Dupin,  speaking 
of  the  general  probity  of  Englishmen,  which  he  held  to  be  a 
principal  cause  of  their  success,  observed  :  "  We  may  succeed  for 
a  time  by  fraud,  by  surprise,  by  violence ;  but  we  can  succeed 
permanently  only  by  means  directly  opposite.  It  is  not  alone 
the  courage,  the  intelligence,  the  activity,  of  the  merchant  and 
manufacturer  which  maintain  the  superiority  of  their  productions 
and  the  character  of  their  country ;  it  is  far  more  their  wisdom, 
their  economy,  and,  above  all,  their  probity.  If  ever  in  the 
British  Islands  the  useful  citizen  should  lose  these  virtues,  we 
may  be  sure  that,  for  England,  as  for  every  other  country,  the 


MEANS. 


269 


vessels  of  a  degenerate  commerce,  repulsed  from  every  shore, 
would  speedily  disappear  from  those  seas  whose  surface  they  now 
cover  with  the  treasures  of  the  universe,  bartered  for  the  treas- 
ures of  the  industry  of  the  three  kingdoms."^ 

The  arts  of  deceit  and  cunning  do  continually  grow  weaker 
and  less  effectual  and  serviceable  to  them  that  use  them,  whereas 
integrity  gains  strength  by  use;  and  the  more  and  longer  any 
man  practiceth  it,  the  greater  service  it  does  him  by  confirming 
his  reputation  and  encouraging  those  with  whom  he  hath  to  do 
to  repose  the  greatest  trust  and  confidence  in  him,  which  is  an 
unspeakable  advantage  in  the  business  and  affairs  of  life.^ 

Hope. — Hope  is  the  principle  of  activity.  Without  holding 
out  hope,  to  desire  one  to  advance  is  absurd  and  senseless.  Sup- 
pose, without  a  sou  in  my  hand,  one  were  to  say,  "  Exert  your- 
self, for  there  is  no  hope,''  it  would  be  to  turn  me  into  ridicule, 
and  not  to  advise  me.  To  hold  out  to  me  the  hopelessness  of 
my  condition  never  was  a  reason  for  exertion ;  for  when,  ulti- 
mately, e(pial  evils  attend  upon  exertion  and  rest,  rest  has  clearly 
the  preference.^ 

Hope  is  the  ruddy  morning  of  joy,  recollection  is  its  golden 
tinire :  but  the  latter  is  wont  to  sink  amid  the  dews  and  dusky 

to 

shades  of  twilight;  and  the  bright  blue  day  which  the   former 
promises,  breaks,  indeed,  but  in  another  world,  and  with  another 


sun. 


Human  life  hath  not  a  surer  friend,  nor  many  times  a  greater 
enemy,  than  hope.  'Tis  the  miserable  man's  god,  which,  in  the 
hardest  gripe  of  calamity,  never  fails  to  yield  him  beams  of  com- 
fort 'Tis  the  presumptuous  man's  devil,  which  leads  him 
awhile  in  a  smooth  way,  and  then  makes  him  break  his  neck  on 
the  sudden.  Hope  is  to  man  as  a  bladder  to  a  learning  swim- 
mer— it  keeps  him  from  sinking  in  the  bosom  of  the  waves,  and 


1  Smiles. 


2  Tillotson. 


8  Burke. 


*  Richter. 


270 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


by  that  help  he  may  attain  the  exercise ;  but  yet  it  many  times 
makes  him  venture  beyond  his  height^  and  then,  if  that  breaks,  or 
a  storm  rises,  he  drowns  without  recovery.  How  many  would 
die,  did  not  hope  sustain  them  !  How  many  have  died  by 
hoping  too  much  I  This  wonder  we  may  find  in  hope,  that 
she  is  both  a  flatterer  and  a  true  friend  J 

Our  actual  enjoyments  are  so  few  and  transient  that  man 
would  be  a  very  miserable  being  were  he  not  endowed  with  this 
passion,  which  gives  him  a  taste  of  those  good  things  that  may 
possibly  come  into  his  possession.  "  We  should  hope  for  every- 
thing that  is  good,"  says  the  old  poet  Sinus,  "because  there  is 
nothing  which  may  not  be  hoped  for,  and  nothing  but  what  the 
gods  are  able  to  give  us."  Hope  quickens  all  the  still  parts  of 
life,  and  keeps  the  mind  awake  in  her  most  remiss  and  indolent 
hours.  It  gives  habitual  serenity  and  good  humor.  It  is  a  kind 
of  vital  heat  in  the  soul,  that  cheers  and  gladdens  her,  when  she 
does  not  attend  to  it.     It  makes  pain  easy,  and  labor  pleasant.^ 

Tliat  is  the  noble  man  who  is  full  of  confident  hopes ;  the 
abject  soul  despairs.** 

There  are  two  kinds  of  hope  :  an  illusive  hope — a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  which  comes  from  an  excited  imagination — and  a  substan- 
tial hope,  born  from  experience,  tears,  and  wrongs.  Patience 
worketh  experience,  and  experience,  hope.  It  is  the  purpose  of 
succeeding  paragraphs  to  distinguish  these,  and  to  show  how  a 
true  hope  may  be  built  up  in  the  soul. 

The  phrenologist  tells  us  that  there  is  a  natural  organ  of 
hopefulness  whose  function  is  to  give  an  expectation  of  good 
things.  Some  have  more  of  it,  others  less;  but  all  have  some. 
It  is  an  especially  human  organ.  Animals  live  in  the  present. 
No  bird  or  bea^st  tries  to  improve  his  condition,  or  to  make  liis 
to-morrow  better  than  his  to-day.    Man  does  this,  and  his  power 


'  F(.l  ham. 


*  Addison. 


3  Euripides. 


MEANS. 


271 


of  doing  it  is  the  condition  of  his  progress,  both  individual  and 
social.  Hope  may  often  deceive  us,  but  without  it  man  could 
never  have  risen  out  of  the  savage  state.  Without  hope,  no 
culture,  no  civilization,  no  progress  in  wealth,  art,  science,  litera- 
ture. "  For^-ctting  the  things  behind,  reaching  out  to  those 
})ef()re  "—this  is  the  secret  of  human  progress.  Fear  of  evil 
may  keep  men  from  going  backward,  but  only  hope  of  some- 
thing better  can  carry  them  on. 

This  organ  of  hope  in  the  brain  is  balanced  by  another,  that 
of  caution.  Hope  sees  the  good  before  us ;  caution,  the  dangers 
to  be  encountered  on  the  way.  Both  are  necessary  to  progress. 
A  man  who  has  too  much  caution  and  too  little  hope  is  easily 
discouraged.  He  is  so  afraid  of  evil  that  he  does  not  try  to  get 
the  good.  He  Is  the  .slave  of  anxiety  and  fear.  He  will  never 
attempt  any  difficult  enterprise.  Such  men  do  nothing  to  carry 
forward  the  world.  Better  have  too  much  hope  and  try,  and 
fall,  than  not  to  try  at  all. 

This,  then,  is  one  distinction  between  the  true  hope  and  the 
false  one.  The  hope  which  deceives  is  that  wdiich  promises  us 
future  o-ood  with  no  co-operation  of  ours.  AVe  think  to  have 
the  end  without  using  the  means.  We  trust  in  luck,  in  f  )rtune, 
in  genius — not  in  thought  and  work.  What  we  wish  and 
vaguelv  expect  is  to  find  some  pot  of  gold  in  the  ground,  to 
draw  the  prize  in  the  lottery,  to  be  helped  by  some  powerful 
friend.  Those  in  whom  this  fictitious  and  Illusive  hopefulness 
is  strong,  love  to  read  fairy  stories,  and  imagine  themselves  the 
heroes;  are  tempted  to  gamble  at  cards  or  in  stocks;  prefer 
speculation  to  legitimate  business ;  wish  to  be  rich  at  once.  All 
they  undertake  they  undertake  blindly,  trusting  In  their  good 
fortune,  refusing  to  look  at  the  conditions  of  success,  or  the  diffi- 
culties in  their  way.     So  their  life  is  apt  to  be  one  long  fiiilure. 


272 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


273 


The  true  hope,  on  the  eoiitrary,  is  one  ^vhieh   Is  AvIUing  to 
think,  Avait,  and  act.     It  is  in  no  hurry,  docs  not  expect  instant 
success.     This  is  ^vhat  the  Scripture  means  hy  the  "patience  of 
hope.''     True  hope  is  very  patient.     It  relies  on  the  working;  of 
immutable  Laws,  which  are  sure  to  bring  success  at  last.     Tlie 
man  who  has  this  principle  in  him  does  not  read  fairy  tales,  but 
the  biogra[)hies  of  those  who  have  done  great  things.     He  sees 
how  manv  difficulties  thev  encountered,  how  many  disappoint- 
ments  they  met,  how  often  they  were    baffled.     He    sees   how 
they  had  the    "patience  of  hope;"    how  they   tried  again    and 
again  and  again;    how  they  learned  something  by  every  failure; 
and  how,  at  last,  when  success  came,  they  had  fairly  conquered  it 
by  honest,  careful,  thoughtful,  persevering  work.     Nothing  edu- 
cates the  practical  faculty  of  hope  more  than  tlie  knowledge  of 
what  men  have  done  by  patience,  wisdom,  and  determined  pur- 
pose.    '\Ve  look  back  at  the  great  men  of  history — Columbus, 
Socrates,  Dante,  Washington,  Luther,  Milton,  Paul— and  com- 
monlv  we  think  onlv  of  their  success ;  their  whole  career  seems 
to  us  one  of  steady  triumph.     But  study  their  lives  intimately, 
come  close  to  them,  and  then  you  s-e  how  they  fought  their  way 
against  constant  opposition,  slander,  hatred,  failure.     The  ideal 
man  whom   we    call    Socrates,    the    great    shining    light    whose 
moral  beauty  illuminates  Paganism,  whose  grandeur  of  soul  has 
won  the  praise  of  the  earth — what  was  his  real  life?     He  lived 
bv  hope.     Men  whose  names  arc  now  forgotten — or  would  be 
fon^otten  but  for  him — lorded  it  over  him,  and  looked  on  him 
with  supreme  and  supercilious  disdain.     The  great  Gorgias,  the 
famous  rhetorician,  thouglit  it  almost  a  condescension  to  argue 
•  with  him  and  refute  him.     When  the  celebrated  sophist,  Prota- 
goras, arrives  at  Athens,  the  disciples  of  Socrates  all  leave  him  to 
go  to  hear  this  teacher,  much  greater,  as  they  think,  than  their 


i 


own  master.  No  one,  in  the  days  of  Socrates,  anticipated  that 
this  plain-spoken,  straightforw^ard  man,  who  can  not  make  an 
oration,  or  even  a  speech,  who  can  only  talk  right  on,  is  likely  to 
be  remembered.  His  companions  and  friends  admired  and 
loved  him,  but  people  generally  thought  him  too  combative,  too 
plain-spoken.  No  one  could  tell  exactly  to  what  party  he  be- 
longed :  he  opposed  all  parties  in  turn.  He  had  found  fault 
wuth  the  politicians,  the  orators,  the  tragic  and  comic  poets,  the 
artisans;  he  was  by  no  means  popular  at  Athens.  His  power 
was  this — that  he  lived  in  a  world  of  ideas,  he  believed  in  great 
truths,  he  had  faith  in  principles.  He  was  strong  in  the  hope 
which  these  inspired.  Nothing  which  he  saw  around  him  could 
give  him  courage;  but  his  hope  of  the  triumph  of  truth  was 
enough  for  him. 

We  think  of  Columbus  as  the  great  discoverer  of  America ;  we 
do  not  remember  that  his  actual  life  was  one  of  disappointment 
and  failure.  Even  his  discovery  of  America  was  a  disappoint- 
ment ;  he  was  looking  for  India,  and  utterly  failed  of  this.  He 
made  maps  and  sold  them  to  support  his  old  father.  Poverty, 
contumely,  indignities  of  all  sorts,  met  him  wherever  he  turned. 
His  exj)ectations  were  considered  extravagant,  his  schemes  futile ; 
the  theologians  opposed  him  with  texts  out  of  the  Bible ;  he 
wasted  seven  years  waiting  in  vain  for  encouragement  at  the 
court  of  Spain.  He  applied  unsuccessfully  to  the  governments 
of  Venice,  Portugal,  Genoa,  France,  England.  Practical  men 
said  :  "  It  can^t  be  done  ;  he  is  a  visionary."  Doctors  of  divinity 
said :  "  He  is  a  heretic  ;  he  contradicts  the  Bible."  Isabella, 
being  a  woman,  and  a  woman  of  sentiment,  w^ished  to  help  him, 
but  her  confessor  said  no.  We  all  know  how  he  was  compelled 
to  put  down  mutiny  in  his  crew,  and  how,  after  his  discovery 

was  made,  he  was  rewarded  with  chains  and  imprisonment;  how 
19 


274 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


275 


he  died  in  neglect,  poverty,  and  pain,  and  only  was  rewarded  by 
a  sumptnous  funeral.  His  great  hope,  his  profound  convictions, 
were  his  only  support  and  strength. 

Look   at  the  starved   features  of  tlie  melancholy  Dante,  the 
exile,  condemned  to  be  burnt  alive  on  false  charges  of  peculation, 
based   on  puV)lic   report.     Think  of  the  poor  wanderer,  uncon- 
scious of  the  glory  that  was  before  him,  writing  a  pathetic  letter 
to  his  beloved  Florence,  saying :  "My  people,  what  have  I  done 
to  you?"     But  he,  also,  clung  to  his  ideas,  denounced  the  tem- 
poral power  of  the  popes,  put  his  soul  into  his  great  poem,  lived 
in  the  hope  of  the  triumph  of  justice  and  truth,  and  so  fought 
his  good  fight.     When  invited  to  submit  and  confess  himself 
in  the  wrong,  and  so  return  to  his  dear  city,  he  refused,  saying 
'*  he  would  live  under  the  sun  and  stars  and  see  the  truth,  but 
not  make  himself  infamous  even  to  return  to  Florence." 

All  great  men  have  lived  by  hope.  Not  what  they  saw,  but 
what  they  believed  in,  made  their  strength.  Milton  was  the 
object  of  bitter  opposition  and  sharp  criticism.  He  was  odious 
to  the  Eoyalists,  disliked  by  the  Presbyterians,  abused  by  the 
great  Salm'asius,  and  in  his  old  age,  blind  and  poor,  his  friends 
in  exile  and  ruin,  flillen  on  evil  days  and  tongues,  he  had  noth- 
ing to  console  him  except  his  visions  of  eternal  beauty  and  his 
lofty  hope  of  doing  a  great  work,  which  the  world  would  not 
willingly  let  die.  .  .  .  The  power  which  moves  the  workl  is 
liope.  An  anxious,  doubtful,  timid  man  can  accomplish  little. 
Fear  unnerves  us  ;  hope  inspires  us.^ 

Difficulty.— The  difficulties,  hardships,  and  trials  of  life— 
the  obstacles  one  encounters  on  the  road  to  fortune— are  positive 
blessings.  They  knit  his  muscles  more  firmly,  and  teach  him 
self-reliance,  juJt  as  by  wrestling  with  an  athlete  who  is  superior 
to  us  we  increase  our  own  strength  and  learn  the  secret  of  his 

1  Clarke. 


^fi 


skill.  All  difficulties  come  to  us,  as  Bunyan  says,  of  temptation, 
like  the'  lion  which  met  Samson  ;  the  first  time  we  encounter 
them  they  roar  and  gnash  their  teeth,  but,  once  subdued,  we  find 
a  nest  of  honey  in  them.  Peril  is  the  very  element  in  which 
power  is  developed.  "Ability  and  necessity  dwell  near  each 
other/'  said  Pythagoras.  "He  who  has  battled,"  says  Carlyle, 
"  were  it  only  with  poverty  and  hard  toil,  will  be  found  stronger 
and  more  expert  than  he  who  could  stay  at  home  from  the  battle, 
concealed  among  the  provision-wagons,  or  even  rest  unwatch- 
fully  ^abiding  by  the  stuff.' "^ 

Difficulties  invigorate  the  soul.  I  do  not  mean  the  difficulties 
of  indolence  and  disobedience — these  are  withering  curses — but 
the  difficulties  of  industry,  of  obedience. 

They  are  conditions  essential  to  strength.  What  gives  power 
to  the  arm  of  the  smith  ?  The  weight  of  his  hammer.  What 
gives  swiftness  to  the  Indian  foot  ?  The  fleetness  of  his  game. 
Thus  it  is  with  the  senses.  What  confers  exquisite  sensibility 
upon  the  blind  man's  ear  ?  The  curtain  which,  by  hiding  the 
visible  universe  from  his  sight,  compels  him  to  give  intense 
regard  to  the  most  delicate  vibrations  that  play  upon  his  tym- 
panum. Thus  it  is  with  the  intellect.  Who  is  the  greatest 
reasoner?  He  who  habitually  struggles  with  the  worst  diffi- 
culties that  can  be  mastered  by  reason.  Do  you  complain  of  a 
feeble  intellect?  It  may  be  your  misfortune,  but  it  is  more 
likely  to  be  your  fault.  Before  you  charge  the  Almighty  with 
an  unequal  distribution  of  gifts,  try  your  mind  upon  some  appro- 
priate difficulties.  Bear  it  into  the  field  of  mathematics,  or 
metaphysics,  or  logic.  Bid  it  struggle,  and  faint,  if  necessary, 
and  struggle  again.  If  disposed  to  retreat,  urge  it,  goad  it.  Let 
it  rest  when  weary,  bid  it  walk  when  it  can  not  run,  but  teach 
it  that  it  must  conquer.     If,  after  this  discipline,  your  mind  be 

* 

Mathews. 


\, 


276 


MAN   AND  HI3   RELATIONS. 


MEANS. 


277 


feeble,  you  may  call  your  weakuess  au  infinuity,  and  not  a  fault. 
Some  men  have  fruitless  imagiuations,  but  who  are  they?  .Those 
who  have  never  led  their  fiincies  out.  The  genial  oak  planted 
in  a  dismal  cellar,  shut  out  from  the  light  and  air  of  heaven, 
would  not  grow  up  and  lift  its  branches  to  the  akies,  Plant 
vour  imajrination  in  the  heavens,  and  let  it  be  subject  to  the 
high  and  holy  influences  of  its  pure  ether,  and  its  silent  lights, 
and  it  shall  manifest  vitality,  and  vigor,  and  upward  aspirations. 

The  memory,  too,  is  strong,  if  subjected  to  proper  exercise. 
It  will  yield   no  revenue  to  the  soul  that  does  not  tax  it ;  and 
just  in  proportion  as  it  is  taxed,  will  it  be  found  to  have  capacity 
of  production.     I  will  add  that  it  is  thus  with  the  moral  powers. 
Envv,  iealousv,  an^er— those   bitter  fountains  which    so    often 
tincture  the  streams  of  private  and  domestic  joy— deepen  in  pro- 
portion to  the  obstacles  through  which  they  flow.     Avarice  and 
ambition — those  demons  that  have  desolated  the  globe  with  war- 
derive  their  overwhelming  power  fnuu    the   difficulties  which 
impede  their   progress.      The   daring,  lover  testifies   that  love 
becomes  more  wild  and  resistless  as  great  and  romantic  difficul- 
ties rise  around  him.     \\^hat  makes  the  good  Christian  ?     Per- 
petual trial.     He  who  has  experienced  the  severest  storms,  and 
has  most  frequently  thrown  out  the  Christian's  anchor,  has  the 
strongest  hope.     Where  shall  we  expect  the  firmest  faith  ?     At 
the  sate  of  St.  Peter's?  or  at  the  martyr's  stake?     Who  is  com- 
pared  to  purified  silver  or  gold?     That  Christian  around  whose 
soul  God  hath  kindled  the  fires  of  his  furnace,  and  kept  them 
glowing  till  it  reflected  his  own  image.^ 

Mental  Cultivation. — The  advantage  which  intelligence 
gives  a  man  is  very  great.  It  oftentimes  increases  one's  mere 
physical  ability  full  one-half.  Active  thought,  or  quickness  in 
the  use  of  a  mind,  is  very  important  in  teaching  us  how  to  use 

J  Bishop  Thomson. 


\ 


"m 


our  hands  rightly  In  every  possible  relation  and  situation  in  life. 
The  use  of  the  head  abridges  the  labor  of  the  hands.  There  is 
no  drudgery ;  there  is  no  mechanical  routine ;  there  is  no 
minuteness  of  function  that  is  not  advantaged  by  education.  If 
a  man  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  turn  a  grindstone,  he  had  better 
be  educated;  if  a  man  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  stick  ])ins  on  a 
paper,  he  had  better  be  educated.  It  makes  no  difierence  what 
you  do,  you  will  do  it  better  if  you  are  educated.  An  intelligent" 
man  knows  how  to  bring  knowledge  to  bear  upon  whatever  he 
has  to  do.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  stupid  man  makes 
a  better  laborer  than  one  who  is  intelligent.  If  I  wanted  a  man 
to  drain  my  farm,  or  merely  to  throw  the  dirt  out  from  a  ditch, 
I  would  not  get  a  stupid  drudge  if  I  could  help  it.  In  times 
when  armies  have  to  pass  through  great  hardships,  it  is  the 
stupid  soldiers  that  break  dow^n  quickest,  while  the  men  of  intel- 
ligence, who  have  mental  resources,  hold  out  longest.  It  is  a 
common  saying  that  blood  will  always  tell  in  horses :  I  know 
that  intelligence  will  tell  in  men.^ 

A  man  in  these  days  is  sadly  handicappetl  without  schooling. 
But  even  if  childhood  and  early  youth  have  had  little  chance, 
intelligence  will  strive  to  make  up  its  leeway  rather  than  lose; 
and  the  very  eflbrt  will  sharpen  the  faculties,  and  go  iar  to  insure 
success.  Opie's  receipt  for  his  painting  is  universally  good : 
Mix  the  colors  with  brains.  The  commerce  of  England  is  not 
in  the  hands  of  scholars,  but  of  clear-headed,  practical  men,  for 
the  most  part,  who  know  their  business,  have  their  hearts  in  it, 
and  know  how  to  push  it.  Stupid  men  may  happen  to  succeed, 
but,  as  a  rule,  they  are  luggers  against  ocean  racers.  Fixed 
modes  and  forms  are  well  in  their  measure,  but  there  are  limits 
to  red  tape.  Never  stick  to  a  thing  simply  because  it  is  old ; 
never  dismiss  a  proposal  because  it  is  novel.     The  more  intelli- 

1  Beecher. 


i 


I 


278 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


gent  you  arc,  the  less  likely  to  be  irKlc-bound  by  stupid  conser- 
vatism ;  the  more  liberal  your  education,  if  you  be  not  above 
vour  business,  the  more  chance  of  your  making  your  mark.  It 
takes  scientific  farming  to  raise  wheat  on  sand,  and  modern  busi- 
ness life  is  all  sand  till  intelligence  turn  it  to  h)am.^ 

Health. — We    must  reckon  success   a   constitutional   trait. 
Courage,  the  old  physicians  tauglit  (and  their  meaning  holds,  if 
their  physiology  is  a  little  mythi:al)— courage,  or  the  degree  of 
life,  is  as  the  degree  of  circulation  of  the  blood  in  the  arteries. 
^^  During  passion,  anger,  fury,  trials  of  strength,  wrestling,  fight- 
ino-    a  larw  amount  of  blood  is  collected  in   the   arteries,  the 
maintenance  of  bodily  strength  requiring  it,  and  but  little  is  sent 
into  the  veins.     This  condition  is  constant  with    intrepid  per- 
sons.''    AVhere  the  arteries    hold    their  blood,   is    courage   and 
adventure  possible.     Where  they  pour  it  unrestrained  into  the 
veins,  the  spirit  is  low  and  feeble.     For  performance  of  great 
mark,    it   needs   extraordinary    health.      If  Eric    is    in    robust 
health,  and  has  slept  well,  and  is  at  the  top  of  his  condition,  and 
thirtv  vears  old,  at  his  departure  from  Greenland,  he  will  steer 
west,  and  his  ships  will  reach  Newfoundland.     But  take  out  Eric, 
and  put  in  a  stronger  and  bolder  man — Biorn,  or  Thorfin — and 
tlie  ships  will,  with  just  as  much  ease,  sail  six    hundred,   one 
thousand,  fifteen  hundred  miles  further,  and  reach  Labrador  and 

New  England.^ 

Horace  Mann,  in  a  letter  of  advice  to  a  law  student,  justly 
remarks  that  a  spendthrift  of  health  is  one  of  the  most  reprehen- 
sible of  spendthrifts.  "  I  am  certain,"  continues  he,  "  I  could 
have  performed  twice  the  labor,  both  better  and  with  greater  ease 
to  myself,  had  I  known  as  much  of  the  laws  of  health  and  life 
at  twenty-one  as  I  do  now.  In  college  I  was  taught  all  about 
the  motions  of  the  planets,  as  carefully  as  though  they  would  have 


1  Geikie. 


2  Emerson. 


p 


ifw 


MEANS. 


279 


been  in  danger  of  getting  off  the  track  if  I  had  not  known  how 
to  trace  their  orbits;  but  about  my  own  organization,  and  the 
conditions  indispensable  to  the  healthful  functions  of  my  own 
body,  I   was    left   in    profound    ignorance.      Nothing  could  be 
more  preposterous.     I  ought  to  have  begun  at  home,  and  taken 
the  stars  when  it  should  come  their  turn.     The  consequence  was 
I  broke  down  at  the  beginning  of  my  second  college  year,  and 
have  never  had  a  well  day  since.     AVhatever  labor  I  have  since 
been  able  to  do,  I  have  done  it  all  on  credit  instead  of  capital — a 
most  ruinous  way,  either  in  regard  to  health  or  money.     For  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  so  far  as  it  regards  health,  I  have  been 
put,  from  day  to  day,   on  my  good  behavior;  and   during  the 
whole  of  this  period,  as  an  Hibernian  would  say,  if  I  had  lived 
as  other  folks  do  for  a  month,  I  should  have  died  in  a  fortnight.''^ 
Health  is  the  foundation  of  all  things  in  this  life.     Although 
w^ork  is  hea'thy,  and  occupation  almost  indispensable  to  health 
and  happiness,  yet  excessive  work  which  taxes  tlie  brain  almost 
invariably  ends  in  weakening  the  digestive  organs.     There  are 
men  here  who  overtax  their  minds  all  day  long,  through  months 
and  vears,  i  niorant  that  there  is  a  subtle  but  inevitable  connec- 
tion  between  dyspepsia  and  too  much  mental  exertion.     I  see 
around  me  the  eifects  of  too  intense  mental  application  in  schol- 
ars, in  bankers,  in  merchants,  and  in  business  men  of  every  other 
class.     It  is  a  thing  which  every  man  should  understand,  that 
there  is  a  point  beyond  which,  if  he  urge  his  brain,  the  injurious 
result  will  be  felt,  not  in  the  head,  but  in  the  stomach.     The 
nerves  of  the  stomach  become  vrcakened  by  excessive  mental 
application,  and  the  moment  a  man  loses  his  stomach,  the  citadel 
of  his  physical  life  is  taken.     All  your  body  is  renewed  from  the 
blood  of  your  system,  and  that  blood  is  made  from  the  food  taken 
into  the  stomach.     The  capacity  of  the  blood  to  renew  nerve 


1  Mathews. 


280 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


and  fiber  and  bone  and  muscle,  and  thus  to  keep  you  in  a  state 
of  health,  depends  upon  the  perfectness  of  your  digestive  func- 
tions. 

There  is  scarcely  one  man  in  a  hundred  Avho  supposes  that  he 
must  ask  leave  of  his  stomach  to  be  a  happy  man.  In  many 
cases  the  diiference  bet^veen  happy  men  and  unhappy  men  is 
caused  by  their  digestion.  Oftentimes  the  difference  between 
hopeful  men  and  melancholy  men  is  simply  the  diiference  of 
their  diirestion.  There  is  much  that  is  called  spiritual  ailment 
that  is  nothing  but  stomachic  ailment.  I  have,  during  my  expe- 
rience as  a  religious  teacher,  had  persons  call  upon  liie  with  that 
hollow  cheek,  that  emaciated  face,  and  that  peculiar  look  which 
indicate  the  existence  of  this  cerebral  and  stomachic  difficulty,  to 
tell  me  about  their  trials  and  temptations ;  and,  whatever  I  may 
have  said  to  them,  my  inward  thought  hcs  been,  "  There  is  very 
little  help  that  can  be  afforded  you  till  your  health  Is  established." 
The  foundation  of  all  earthly  happiness  is  physical  health;  and 
yet  men  scarcely  ever  value  it  till  they  have  lost  it. 

Remember,  also,  that  too  httle  sleep  is  almost  r.s  inevitably 
fatal  as  anything  can  be  to  your  health  and  happiness.  Suppose 
you  do  work  very  hard  all  day  long,  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  say,  ^^  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  mere  pack -horse,  and  if  I 
can  not  have  pleasure  by  day,  I  will  have  it  at  night. '^  You 
are  taking  the  very  substance  out  of  your  body  when  you  burn 
the  lamp  of  pleasure  till  one  or  two  o'clock  at  night.  It  may  be 
that  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  you  may,  now  and  then,  dimin- 
ish the  quantity  of  rest  and  sleep,  and  still  retain  your  health, 
but  for  a  young  man  to  follow  the  excitations  of  pleasure  con- 
tinually is  like  burning  many  wicks  in  one  lamp.  He  can  not 
do  it  for  any  considerable  length  of  time  without  destroying  his 
constitution.     There  is  nothing  more  inevitable  than  that  the 


MEANS. 


281 


\yant  of  sleep  undermines  the  body  itself.  As  a  general  rule, 
eight  hours  of  sleep  are  necessary  for  a  young  person.  There  is 
a  difference,  however,  in  the  amount  of  sleep  required  by  differ- 
ent persons  of  the  same  age.  A  nervous  man  does  not  usually 
need  as  much  sleep  as  a  phlegmatic  man,  for  the  reason  that 
some  men  accomplish  more  sleep  in  the  same  time  than  others. 
A  nervous  man  will  walk  a  mile  quicker,  will  eat  his  meals 
quicker,  will  do  everything  quicker,  and  will,  therefore,  sleep 
quicker,  than  a  phlegmatic  man.  Some  men  will  do  as  much 
sleep-work  in  six  hours  as  other  men  will  in  eight  hours.  Some, 
therefore,  can  do  with  less  sleep  than  others ;  but  whatever  may 
be  the  amount  which  experience  teaches  you  that  you  need,  that 
amount  you  should  take.  It  may  excite  a  smile  when  I  say  it, 
but  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  it  is  a  part  of  your  religious  duty 
to  sleep.  A  great  many  men  have  destroyed  the  usefulness  of 
their  lives  through  ignorance  of  this  indispensable  law  of  recu- 
peration.    ... 

Diet  and  out-of-door  exercise  are  also  elements  of  health  not 
to  be  neglected  with  impunity.  There  are  many  who  have  not 
their  choice  in  this  regard  :  and  I  am  truly  sorry  for  those  who 
are  obliged,  by  the  nature  of  their  calling  or  the  terms  of  their 
engagement,  to  forego  exercise  in  the  open  air.  It  is  a  painful 
sight  to  see  ^vorkingmen  looking  pale  and  emaciated,  like  plants 
that  grow  in  the  shade,  without  that  robustness  or  that  healthy 
hue  that  comes  from  work  out  of  doors.^ 

In  many  of  the  ancient  religions  the  body  was  thought  to  be 
the  enemy  of  the  soul.  The  duty  of  a  religious  man,  therefore, 
was  to  weaken  the  body,  as  far  as  w^as  possible,  without  destroy- 
ing life.  The  body  w^as  to  be  kept  under  by  means  of  mortify- 
ing practices — fasting,  want  of  sleep,  poor  clothes  or  none,  by 
living  out  of  doors,  and,  finally,  by  self-inflicted  flagellation. 


1  Beecher. 


282 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Onlv  one  ancient  nation — the  Egyptian — appears  to  have  had 
much  respect  for  the  human  body.     The  Egyptians  took  care  of 
the  bodv  during  life,  and  preserved  it  after  death.     They  saw 
something  divine   in   all   living  organizations.     In   worshiping 
animals  and  vegetables  they  worshiped  the  mysterious  principle 
of  organization— that  vital  power  Avhich  is  to  us,  as  it  was  to 
them  uttcrlv  marvelous  and  inscrutable.    The  Egyptians  thought 
it  religious  to  adore  and  worship  the  body  ;  other  nations  thought 
it  relio-ious  to   despise  and   ill-treat  the  body.     .     .     .     Good 
health  is  the  basis  of  all  physical,  intellectual,  moral,  and  spirit- 
ual development.     Men  and  women,  permanent  invalids,  have, 
no  doubt,  been  sometimes  distinguished  as  thinkers  and  workers. 
A  powerful  soul  will  triumph  over  bodily  disease ;  but  usually  a 
sick  thinker  has  something  sickly  in  his  thought.     Calvin,  whose 
life  was  darkened  by  disease,  had  a  morbid  and  gloomy  element 
in  his  theology.     Emaciated  and  sickly  saints  usually  have  a 
sickly  piety.     I  believe  that  Jesus  was  healthy  in  body  as  in 
mind;  all  his  faculties  active,  and  so  full  of  vital  power  as  to 
awe  and  control  even  his  opponents,  who  came  expecting  to  put 
him  down.     Eor  a  certain  amount  of  vital  energy  is  needed  to 
give  weight  to  the  best  argument.     To  be  a  great  prophet  it  is 
necessarv,  not  onlv  to  have  inspiration  and  conviction,  but  also 
to  possess  a  body  able  to  endure  fatigue,  instinct  with  magnetic 
force  and  physical  energy.     I  repeat,  then,  that  bodily  health  is 
the  foundation  of  all  rounded  self-culture,  all  integral  develop- 
ment.   I  fully  admit  the  power  of  the  soul,  under  great  spiritual 
and  moral  excitement,  to  compel  a  weak  body  to  do  its  bidding. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  eminent  proofs  that  soul  is  the  king,  and 
body  its  subject.     A  great  soul  may  inspire  a  sick  body  with 
strength ;  but  if  the  body  were  well,  it  would  obey  yet  more 
promptly  and  effectually. 


MEANS. 


283 


I  do  not  sympathize  with  those  reformers  who  say  that  we  are 
always  to  blame  for  being  sick,  and  that  if  we  obeyed  all  the 
hygienic  laws  we  should  be  always  well.  Some  persons  are  born 
diseased,  with  congenital  and  inherited  2)oison  in  tljeir  blood; 
some  take  disease  from  the  air,  and  from  unavoidable  exposure. 
But,  no  doubt,  a  vast  amount  of  sickness  comes  from  bad  living; 
from  intemperance  in  work,  in  eating  and  drinking;  from  breath- 
ing bad  air,  living  in  damp,  dark  homes;  from  bad  food, 'poor 
clothing,  want  of  recreation  and  amusement.  In  Xew  England 
we  are  not  a  healthy  people.  AVe  are,  to  be  sure,  free  from  the 
scourge  of  the  Middle  and  AVestern  States — fever  and  ague ;  nor 
are  we  as  liable  to  inflammatory  diseases  as  in  other  places.  Our 
demon  is  consumption,  and  the  natural  prevention  and  cure  for 
consumption  is  pure  air,  and  enough  of  it.  But  the  great  mass 
of  our  people  shut  out  the  sunshine,  shut  out  the  air,  shut  them- 
selves up  during  our  long  winter  months  with  air-tight  stoves  in 
air-tight  rooms,  using  the  same  air  over  and  over  again.  Ven- 
tilation is  a  lost  art.  Xo  one  knows  how  to  ventilate  a  public 
building  or  a  railroad  car.  Along  the  shores  of  Maine,  where 
the  air  is  pure  and  balmy,  and  merely  to  breathe  it  is  like  drink- 
ing the  wine  of  life,  if  you  go  into  the  houses,  you  will  find  the 
people  pale  and  sickly.  The  explanation  is  the  air-tight  stove 
and  indigestible  food.  Whoever  will  teach  the  people  of  Xew 
England  the  advantages  of  good  food,  fresh  air,  and  sunshine, 
will  renew  the  physical  constitution  of  the  race. 

But  the  work  of  physical  degeneracy  is  begun  in  our  schools. 
We  put  a  crowd  of  little  children  together  in  an  imperfectly 
ventilated  room.  We  task  their  immature  brains  with  from  five 
to  eight  hours  of  mental  application.  We  stimulate  them  by  a 
system  of  prizes,  promotion,  and  praise.  We  make  them  study 
at  home,  in  the  evening,  by  lamplight,  after  having  been  confined 


284 


MAX   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


at  school  half  the  day.  AVhcn  the  child's  natural  tendency  to 
move  about,  to  smile,  to  talk,  manifests  itself,  we  repress  it  by 
the  brutal  application  of  the  rod.  So  we  treat  our  children,  and 
wonder  at  the  mysterious  Providence  which  sends  them  disease 
and  death,  while  the  vagabond  newsboys,  half-clothed  and  half- 
fed,  but  moving  about  in  the  open  air  all  day,  are  comparatively 
well.  .  .  .  If  a  healthy  body  contributes  to  the  health  of 
the  mind,  so,  also,  a  healthy  mind  keeps  the  body  well.  Cheer- 
fulness, interest  in  life,  interest  in  our  work,  enough  to  do,  with- 
out haste  or  rest,  pleasant  society,  friendship — these  react  favora- 
bly on  the  body.  The  haste  to  get  rich,  and  the  intense  struggles 
of  business  rivalry,  probably  destroy  as  many  lives  in  America 
every  year  as  are  lost  in  a  great  battle.  Patience,  equanimity, 
trust  in  Providence,  contentment  with  our  lot — these  keep  the 
body  from  disease.  A  good  conscience  is  better  medicine  than 
all  the  druggists  can  supply.     .     . 

Take  exercise  every  day,  in  the  open  air  if  possible,  and  make 
it  a  recreation,  and  not  merely  a  duty.  Eat  w^holesome  food. 
Drink  pure  water.  Let  your  house  and  room  be  well  ventilated. 
Take  time  enough  for  sleep.     Do  not  worry. 

AVatch  yourself,  but  not  too  closely,  to  find  what  exercise, 
air,  diet,  etc.,  agrees  witli  you.  Xo  man  can  be  a  rule  fur 
another.  One  man  can  eat  all  things;  another,  who  is  weak, 
can  only  eat  herbs.  Experience  in  this  regard  is  better  than 
rules. 

If  you  consult  a  physician,  it  is  better  to  do  it  before  you 
are  unwell  than  later.  Prophylactics  are  better  than  thera- 
peutics. 

The  time  will  come,  let  us  hope,  Avhen  all  boys  w^ill  be  taught 
the  use  of  tools,  and  all  girls  the  principles  of  cooking.  A  car- 
penter's bench  and  tools  in  a  house  will  furnish  as  good  exercise 


MEANS. 


285 


ns  dumb-bells.  And  is  it  not  a  little  discreditable  to  a  well- 
educated  man  to  have  to  send  for  a  mechanic  Avhen  anvtbin";  is 
out  of  order  in  the  house  ?  Ought  we  not  to  be  able  to  ease  a 
door,  make  a  shelf,  stop  a  leak  in  a  leaden  pipe,  milk  a  cow, 
harness  our  own  horse  ?  An  hour  spent  in  such  work  about  the 
house  or  stable  every  day  would  not  only  exercise  the  body,  but 
relieve  the  tension  of  a  student's  brain. 

Consider  tliis  t  No  carpenter  will  go  to  his  work  without 
seeing  that  his  chest  of  tools  is  in  good  order.  The  musician 
examines  his  instrument  every  day  to  keep  it  in  tune.  AYe 
have  our  horses  carefully  groomed.  Let  us  do  as  much,  at  least, 
as  this  for  our  own  body.  That  is  our  wonderful  box  of  tools — 
our  organ  with  thousands  of  pipes.  It  has,  no  doubt,  a  remark- 
able power  of  self-recovery,  of  repairing  its  own  lesions.  But  do 
not  trv  it  too  much.  It  is  the  faithful  servant  of  the  mind :  but 
let  the  mind  treat  its  servant  tenderly  and  wisely. 

The  body  constantly  acts  on  the  mind:  this  is  now  universally 
recogni;5cd.  It  is  not  as  often  noticed  how  the  mind  acts  on  the 
body.  A  mind  strengthened  by  truth  and  a  determined  purpose 
will  support  a  feeble  body,  and  enable  it  to  do  Avonders.  Mental 
excitement  often  cures  bodilv  disease.  There  are  authentic  cases 
of  persons  given  over  by  their  physicians,  who  resisted  death  and 
saved  their  lives  by  a  strong  determination  not  to  die.  Any  in- 
fluence which  rouses  the  mind  to  action  will  often  cure  the  bod  v. 
One  day  we  shall  have  a  mind-cure  hospital,  where  bodily  disease 
will  be  relieved  by  applications  to  the  mind.  Meantime,  how 
much  can  be  done  for  invalids  by  visits  from  cheerful,  bright, 
entertaining  visitors — by  religious  influences  which  inspire  faith 
and  hope,  not  doubt  and  fear!  Whatever  takes  the  mind  out  of 
itself,  causes  it  to  look  up,  interests  it  in  great  truths,  helps  the 
body,  too»^ 


1  Clarke. 


286  MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 

i 

Tliougli  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood ; 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debilitv  : 

V      7 

Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty  but  kindly.^ 

The  Xecessity  for  ax  Ideal. — The  pursuit,  by  the  imagi- 
nation, of  beautiful  and  strange  thoughts  or  subjects,  to  the 
exclusion  of  painful  or  common  ones,  is  called  among  us,  in 
these  modern  days,  the  pursuit  of  ^^  the  idealJ^  ^ 

A  man  must  have  either  great  men  or  great  objects  before 
him,  otherwise  his  powers  degenerate,  as  the  magnet's  do  when 
it  has  lain  for  a  long  time  without  being  turned  toward  the 
right  corners  of  the  world.^ 

We  arraign  our  daily  employments.  They  apj)car  to  us  unfit, 
unworthy  of  the  faculties  we  spend  on  them.  In  conversation 
with  a  wise  man,  avc  find  ourselves  apologizing  for  our  employ- 
ments;  we  speak  of  them  with  shame.  Nature,  literature, 
science,  childhood,  appear  to  us  beautiful;  but  not  our  own 
daily  work,  not  the  ripe  fruit  and  considered  labors  of  man. 
This  beauty  which  the  fancy  finds  in  everything  else  certainlv 
accuses  that  manner  of  life  we  lead.  AVhy  should  it  be  hateful? 
Why  should  it  contrast  thus  with  all  natural  beauty?  AVhy 
should  it  not  be  poetic,  and  invite  and  raise  us  ?  Is  there  a 
necessity  that  the  works  of  man  should  be  sordid  ?  Perhaps  not. 
Out  of  this  fair  Idea  in  the  mind  springs  the  effort  at  the  Perfect. 
It  is  the  interior  testimony  to  a  fairer  possibility  of  life  and  man- 
ners which  agitates  society  every  day  v/ith  the  offer  of  some 
new  amendment.^ 

Happy  is  the  man  who  is  able  to  follow  straight  on,  though 


MEANS. 


287 


Shakespeare. 


«  Ruskin. 


8  Richter. 


*  Emerson. 


often  wearily  and  painfully,  in  the  tracks  of  the  divine  ideal  who 
stoodby  hisside  in  his  youth,  though  sadly  conscious  of  weary 
lengths  of  way,  of  gulfs  and  chasms,  which  since  those  days  have 
come  to  stretch  between  him  and  his  ideal — of  the  difference 
between  the  man  God  meant  him  to  be— of  the  manhood  he 
thought  he  saw  so  clearly  in  those  early  days— and  the  man  he 
and  the  world  together  managed  to  make  of  him. 

I  say,  happy  is  that  man.  I  had  almost  said  that  no  other 
than  he  is  happy  in  any  true  or  noble  sense,  even  in  this  hard, 
materialistic  nineteenth  century,  when  the  faith,  that  the  weak 
must  go  to  the  wall,  that  the  strong  alone  are  to  survive,  pre- 
vails as  it  never  did  before— which  on  the  surface  seems  specially 
to  be  organized  for  the  destruction  of  ideals,  and  the  quenching 
of  enthusiasms.  I  feel  deeply  the  responsibility  of  making  anij 
assertion  on  so  moot  a  point;  nevertheless,  even  in  our  material- 
istic age,  I  must  urge  you  all,  as  you  would  do  good  work  in  the 
world,  to  take  your  stand  resolutely  and  once  for  all,  and  all 
your  lives  through,  on  the  side  of  the  idealists.^ 

Man  may  well  be  defined  an  animal  that  delights  in  conceiving, 
and  is  destined  to  find  his  highest  happiness  in  struggling  after 
the  realization  of  Ideals.  What  does  this  mean?  What  are 
Ideals?  Whence  do  they  come?  And  how  do  they  specially 
assert  their  existence  in  the  distinctively  human  scenes  of  the 
grand  drama  of  human  life?  The  ideal  of  a  thing  is  just  the 
most  perfect  type  of  the  thing;  and  its  genesis  is  clearly  tracea- 
ble to  the  innate  God-Implanted  aspiration  after  excellence  in 
the  human  soul  operating  upon  the  materials  supplied  by  the 
senses  to  the  generalizing  and  unifying  action  of  the  understand- 
ing. Now,  the  ideal  of  a  circle  is  the  concrete  circle  which 
most  closely  corresponds  to  the  abstract  circle  of  the  mathemati- 
cian; the  ideal  of  a  man  is  that  man,  existing  or  not  existing,  in 

1  Hughes. 


, 


t 

li 


IB 


i 


f 
11 


288 


MAN  AND  HIS  11ELATI0N9. 


whose  composition  and  character  are  combined  all  the  excellent 
qualities  which  most  distinctly  and  most  emphatically  make  up 
manhood.  The  ideal  woman,  in  the  same  way,  is  the  woman  in 
whose  presentation  all  that  is  most  womanly  stands  forth  most 
attractively,  and  takes  captive  most  irresistibly.  Xow,  the 
natural  result  of  a  delight  in  Ideals  is  to  create  a  certain  noble 
discontent  with  what  is  common,  accompanied  by  a  fine  relish 
for  whatever  approximates  to  the  ideal.  Hence  the  potency  of 
Love  in  the  world — ^^  Love,  un vanquished  in  fight/'  as  Sophocles 
sings — whether  against  gods  or  men ;  for,  discounting  the  mere 
sexual  appetency  which  moves  brutes  as  well  as  men,  the  love  of 
which  poets  sing,  and  philosophers  discourse,  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  rapturous  recognition  of  an  Ideal,  or,  as  we  may 
vary  the  phrase,  an  impassioned  admiration  of  Excellence,  Every 
man,  of  course,  is  not  gifted  with  this  capacity  for  ideal  rapture 
in  the  highest  degree.  When  it  assorts  itself  in  a  very  high 
degree  we  are  accustomed  to  call  it  genius,  but  it  Is,  nevertheless, 
a  widely  human  capacity,  and  may  be  recognized  not  seldom  in 
the  humblest  spheres,  where  It  has  received  that  fair  amount  of 
culture  which  all  human  excellence  requires.  In  the  back  slums 
of  our  great  manufacturing  cities,  where  the  human  being  grows 
up  under  the  most  adverse  influences,  you  will  find  not  seldom 
little  patches  of  order  and  neatness  amidst  the  general  disarray, 
from  whicli  you  might  furnish  a  useful  hint  or  two  to  my  lady 
in  the  equipment  of  her  boudoir ;  and  the  crude  rudiments  of 
architecture  in  the  wigwams  of  the  Indian  savage  are  not  with- 
out touches  of  graceful  ornamentation,  which  the  most  accom- 
plished architect  may  not  disdain  to  appropriate.  In  literature 
and  the  arts  a  high  capacity  for  the  ideal  presents  itself,  either 
passively  and  receptively,  in  the  production  of  what  is  called  a 
fine  taste  and  delicate  sensibility  for  beauty,  or  energetically  and 


m 


^jS^'^ 


MEANS. 


289 


constructively,  in  the  shape  of  the  creations  of  literary  and  artistic 
genius.  And  here,  at  last,  we  have  the  image  of  God  in  man  set 
forth  in  lines  of  most  Indubitable  parallelism.  The  poet  is  a 
maker  and  a  creator ;  so  is  the  sculptor,  the  painter,  the  musi- 
cian, the  artist,  each  molding  the  proper  material  at  his  disposal, 
and  lording  over  it  like  a  god.^ 

All  lower  natures  find  their  highest  good  in  semblances  and 
seekings  of  that  which  is  higher  and  better.  All  things  strive 
to  ascend,  and  ascend  in  their  striving.  And  shall  man  alone 
stoop?  Shall  his  pursuits  and  desires,  the  reflections  of  his 
inward  life,  be  like  the  reflected  imacre  of  a  tree  on  the  ed'>'e  of  a 
pool,  that  grows  downward,  and  seeks  a  mock  heaven  in  the 
unstable  element  beneath  it,  in  neighborhood  with  the  slim  water- 
weeds  and  oozy  bottom-grass,  that  are  yet  better  than  Itself,  and 
more  noble,  in  as  far  as  substances  that  appear  as  shadows  are 
preferable  to  shadows  mistaken  for  substance  ?  Xo  !  it  must  be 
a  higher  good  to  make  you  happy.  While  you  labor  for  any- 
thing below  your  proper  humanity,  you  seek  a  happy  life  In  the 
region  of  death.     Well  salth  the  moral  poet : 

"  Unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  mean  a  thing  is  man  !  "  ' 

In  the  human  race  the  instinct  of  progress  drives  men  ever 
forward,  ever  upward  ;  for,  though  you  and  I  may  be  sentimental 
and  dreamy,  the  human  race  is  no  sentimentalist,  but  a  fierce, 
hard  worker.  In  the  Individual  man  this  instinct  is  the  desire 
of  human  perfection.  Though  often  dim,  now  and  then  some- 
thing stirs  us  to  form  an  ideal.  The  picture  of  a  complete  man — 
how  fair  it  is  in  the  young  man's  or  woman's  mind !  Xo 
painter  or  sculptor  could  ever  fancy  an  ideal  of  the  outward  man 

beautiful  enough  to  correspond  to  the  ideal  of  a  manly  character 

20 

I  Blackie.  ^  Coleridge. 


■■X  I 

i 


!iii 


i 


f-  i' 


i  H 


; 


ij 


290 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


which  the  young,  earnest  heart  conceives.  This  is  the  child  of 
our  feeling'and  our  thought.  Shall  it  be  only  a  thought  ?  Shall 
this  will  be  only  a  dream,  to  do  nothing,  to  be  nothing,  when 
the  dream  is  over?  Ko;  it  must  also  be  a  reality  of  character, 
not  coming  at  one  spasmodic  act,  but  a  deed  that  comes  of  us  as 
the  grass  grows  out  of  the  ground, 

"  Or  as  the  sacred  pine  tree  adds 
To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads." 

That  is  the  end  and  cxpres^^ion  of  our  ideal ;  that  is  the  limit 
of  niir  deepest  feeling  and  our  highest  thought.  If  the  feeling 
be  strong  and  the  ideal  just,  it  is  amazing  how  much  can  be  done 
ill  A  Miia'll  space.  A  very  small  stream,  if  it  start  high  enough, 
will  turn  a  great  mill,  if  the  m-ich'uwvy  be  made  to  suit.^ 

li  i,  uVil  to  have  a  high  standard  of  life,  even  though  we 
may  not  be  ablo  alto-other  to  realize  it.  "'The  youth,''  says 
Mr.  Disraeli/Svho  does  not  look  up  will  ln.,h  down,  and  the 
spirit  that  doc.  nut  soar  is  destined,  perhaps,  t<.  grovel." 
George   Herbert    \\\-v]y    writes: 

ritch  tiiy  l.cliavior  Lav,  I'tiy  projcots  high, 
So  shall  thou  Immble  and  magnanimous  he. 

Sink  nul  in  ^pirit ;  vim  ;ii::ir;]i  ;a  the  -ky 

Sh'M.t^  hidicr  much  thuu  \u:  iIku  muuus  u  irce.- 


fji 
|l 


i»: 


II 


5  Parker. 


2  Smiles. 


f 
p. 


I 


il 

m 


'^ 


©E  (0)  [^  ©  E      ELO  0  T 


* 


OHAPTEE    YI. 


HABITS. 

Habit  is  ten  times  nature.  —  Wellingtox. 

All  habits  gather  by  unseen  degrees.  —  Drydex. 

HABIT  (Latin,  habitus)  is  literally  a  way  of  being  held,  or 
of  liolding  onc^s  self  Thus  defined,  it  must  denote  a 
permanent  state  of  rest  which  has  been  reached  as  the  result 
of  action  or  growth,  or  a  permanent  form  of  activity,  or  of 
readiness  or  facility  for  any  kind  of  activity.  As  such  facility 
for  action  is  universally  observed*  to  result  from  repetition  of 
action,  this  last  element  is  taken  up  into  the  conception  or 
definition  of  habit/ 

General  habits  are  formed  by  particular  acts.     I  have  seen  a 
mighty  river,  on  whose  bosom  a  whole  navy  might  repose,  at  its 
well-head  on  the  moors.     You  might  then  easily  step  across  the 
infant  stream.     So  that  irresistible   force  of  habit  which,  when 
ingrained,  gains  an  indomitable  power,  is  at  the  commencement 
a  force  easily  capable  of  being  measured  and  guided.     The  habit 
is   created  by  the   repetition  of  innumerable   little  acts.      The 
object  and  the  main  anxiety  of  life  must  be  to  watch  and  direct 
aright  this  great  motive  force  of  life.     It  is  said  in  the  words  of 
Infinite  Truth  that  he  who  despises  small  things  shall  perish  by 
little  and  little.     We  are  told  that  line  must  be  upon  line,  pre- 
cept upon  precept ;  here  a  little,  there  a  little.     So,  too,  we  are 

(291) 


292 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


told  that  lie  who  Is  faithful  in  that  which  is  greatest  is  also  faith- 
ful in  that  which  is  least. 

As  we  stand  in  sonic  vast  manufactory  in  the  North,  we  per- 
haps  wonder,  amid   the   whirring  of  wheels  and  the   clang  of 
machinery,  at  the  ease  and  adroitness  with  which  even  young 
children  can  perform  their  allotted  parts.     They  nimbly  move 
with  the  wheels,  and  deftly  handle   the  threads.     It  is  easy  to 
notice  the  readiness  and  unconsciousness  with  which  they  get 
through  their  work.     Now,  this  is  in  accordance  with  the  second 
nature  of  habit ;    this  is  in  exact  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
habit.     We  acquire  a  habit,  and  even  forget  how  we  acquired  it. 
The  more  perfectly  we  have  acquired  a  habit,  the  more  uncon- 
sciously we  obey  it.     And  it  is  easy  to  see  in  the  nature  of  things 
why  this  should  be  the  case.     If  we  had  to  deliberate  on   each 
action,  the  day   would  not  suffice  for  its  duties.     So  it  is  that 
habit  supplies*  promptness  and  celerity.     We  could  not  inform 
each  detail  of  conduct  with  its  philosophy— reason  out  each  act 
as  it  occurs.     Nevertheless,  where   the   habit   is   fixed   on   solid 
ground,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  analyze  the  act-to  refer  the  act 
to  the  habit,  and  the  habit  to  the  law.  ,  As  Dean  Ilowson  says : 
''  There  is  a  blessedness  for  those  who  have  learned  the  uncon- 
scious habit  of  joyous  obedience,  who  serve  God  without  effort 
and  without  reluctance,  who  rise,  as  the  sun  rises,  to  travel  the 
appointed  journey,  and  who  sleep  as  those  who  have  been  guided 
all  day  long  in  the  way  of  peace."     .     .     . 

Nearly  all  the  philosophers  have  had  their  discussions  on 
"  habits*"  They  define  habit  as  a  facilihj  in  doing  a  thing,  and 
an  inclination  to  do  it.  Habits  may  be  formed  not  only  by  acts, 
but  by  refraining  from  acts.  Indolence  is  a  habit  formed  by 
neglecting  to  do  what  ought  to  be  done.  Voluntary  acts  become 
involuntary ;  cases  of  volitional  acts  pass  into  automatic.     Aris- 


HABITS. 


293 


totle  points  out  that  there  is  positive  pain  in  resisting  a  formed 
habit.  The  moralists  discuss  habits  ohjcdivehj,  as  generic  and 
specific;  and  subjectively ,  as  active  and  passive.  With  a  little 
puzzling  out,  the  reader  will  find  out  easily  the  meaning  of  the 
classification.  Then  they  are  very  anxious  to  guard  against  the 
mischievous  delusion  that  the  power  of  evil  habit  is  giving  way 
Avhen  they  arc  not  doing  any  thing  which,  in  accordance  with  the 
la-sv  of  habit,  would  strengthen  it.  Probably  there  is  only  a  pause 
of  exhaustion  or  repletion,  or  the  removal  of  the  means  of  grati- 
fvins:  them,  or  the  exchano^e  of  one  bad  habit  for  a  cos^nate  one. 
Thev  have  also  discussed  whether  habit  is  limited  to  livino^ 
beings.  Is  not  the  acclimatization  of  plants  a  resemblance  of 
habit?  Do  we  not  see  the  same  thing  in  the  docility  of  animals, 
which,  according  to  modern  teaching,  are  removed  from  us  by  so 
liirht  and  variable  a  line?  The  connection  between  habit  and 
instinct,  and  the  connection  between  habit  and  association,  are 
very  interesting  and  important  questions.  Another  very  Impor- 
tant question  is,  how  far  we  are  influenced  by  the  habits  of  our 
forefathers,  or  may  influence  the  habits  of  our  descendants.  It 
is  a  very  important  consideration  how  far  by  our  own  habits  we 
may  be  affecting  other  moral  and  physical  life.  This  subject  is 
called  Atavism.  There  are,  for  instance,  various  orders  of  dis- 
ease which  In  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  cases  are  of  an  inherited 
character.  And  what  is  Atavism?  perhaps  you  ask.  Briefly,  it 
may  be  answ'cred,  that  Atavism  is  a  tendency  on  the  part  of  ofi- 
Bpring  to  revert  to  some  more  or  less  remote  ancestral  type.^ 

Habit  at  first  is  but  a  silken  thread, 
Fine  as  the  light-winged  gossamers  that  sway 
In  the  warm  sunbeams  cf  a  summer's  day; 
A  shallow  streamlet,  rippling  o'er  its  bed  ; 
A  tiny  sapling,  ere  its  roots  are  spread ; 


1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


294  MAN    AND    Ills    RELATIONS. 

A  yet  unhardened  thorn  upon  the  spray  ; 

A  lion's  whelp  that  hath  not  scented  prey ; 

A  little  smiling  child  obedient  led. 

Beware !  that  thread  may  bind  thee  as  a  chain ; 

That  streamlet  gather  to  a  fatal  sea ; 

That  sapling  spread  into  a  gnarled  tree; 

That  thorn,  grown  hard,  may  wound  and  give  thee  pain ; 

That  playful  Avhelp  his  murderous  fangs  reveal; 

That  child,  a  giant,  crush  thee  'neath  his  heel. 

Custom  is  a  violent  and  treacherous  sehoolmi.stress.  She, 
bv  little  and  little,  slyly  and  unperceived,  slips  in  the  foot  of 
her  authority,  but,  having  by  this  gentle  and  humble  beginn- 
ing, with  the  aid  of  time,  fixed  and  established  it,  she  then 
unmasks  a  furious  and  tyrannic  countenance,  against  which 
we  have  no   more  the   courage  nor  the   power  so  much  as  to 

lift   up  our  eyes.* 

Habit  is  the  deepest  law  of  human  nature.  It  is  our  supreme 
^treno-th,  if  also,  in  certain  circumstances,  our  miserablest  weak- 
ness.  Let  me  go  once,  scanning  my  way  with  any  earnestness 
of  outlook,  and  successfully  arriving,  my  footsteps  are  an  invita- 
tion to  me  a  second  time  to  go  by  the  same  way— it  is  easier  than 
any  other  way.  Habit  is  our  primal  fundamental  law— habit 
and  imitation— there  is  nothing  more  perennial  in  us  than  these 
two.  They  are  the  source  of  all  working  and  all  apprenticeship, 
of  all  practice  and  all  learning  in  the  world." 

A  single  knot  of  cpiartz  occurring  in  a  flake  of  slate  at  the 
crest  of  the  ridge  may  alter  the  entire  destinies  of  the  mountain 
form.  It  may  turn  the  little  rivulet  of  water  to  the  right  or 
left,  and  that  little  turn  will  be  to  the  future  direction  of  the 
gathering  stream  what  the  touch  of  a  finger  on  the  barrel  of 
a  rifle  would  be  to  the  direction  of  a  bullet.  Each  succeed- 
hvr  vear  increases  the    importance  of  every  determined  form, 


1  Montaigne.       2  Carlyle. 


HABITS. 


295 


and  arranges  in  masses  yet  more  and  more  harmonious  the 
promontories  shaped  by  the  sweeping  of  the  eternal  water- 
falls. 

The  importance  of  the  results  thus  obtained  by  the  slightest 
change  of  direction  in  the  infant  streamlets  furnishes  an  interest- 
ing type  of  the  formation  of  human  characters  by  habit.  Every 
one  of  those  notable  ravines  and  crags  is  the  expression,  not  of 
any  sudden  violence  done  to  the  mountain,  but  of  its  little  habitSy 
persisted  in  continually.  It  was  created  with  one  ruling  instinct; 
but  its  destiny  depended,  nevertheless,  for  effective  result,  on  the 
direction  of  the  small  and  all  but  invisible  tricklings  of  water 
in  which  the  first  showier  of  rain  found  its  wav  down  its  sides. 
The  feeblest,  most  insensible  oozings  of  the  drops  of  dew  among 
its  dust  were,  in  reality,  arbiters  of  its  eternal  form,  commis- 
sioned, with  a  touch  more  tender  than  that  of  a  child's  finger — 
as  silent  and  slight  as  the  fall  of  a  half-checked  tear  on  a  maid- 
en's cheek — to  fix  forever  the  forms  of  peak  and  precipice,  and 
hew  those  leagues  of  lifted  granite  into  the  shapes  that  were  to 
divide  the  earth  and  its  kingdoms.  Once  the  little  stone 
evaded — once  the  dim  furrow  traced — and  the  peak  was  forever 
invested  with  its  majesty,  the  ravine  forever  doomed  to  its 
dejrradation.  Thenceforward,  dav  bv  dav,  the  subtle  habit 
gained  in  power;  the  evaded  stone  was  left  with  Avider  base- 
ment ;  the  chosen  furrow  deepened  with  swifter  .sliding  wave ; 
repentance  and  arrest  were  alike  impossible,  and  hour  after 
hour  saw  written,  in  larger  and  rockier  characters  u])on  the 
sky,  the  history  of  the  choice  that  had  been  directed  by  a 
drop  of  rain,  and  of  the  balance  that  had  been  turned  by  a 
grain  of  sand.* 

Impiiovemext  of  Time. — Wherever  your  life  ends  it  is  all 
there;  neither  does  the  utility  of  living  consist  in  the  length  of 


1  Ruskin. 


\ 


206 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


HABITS. 


297 


days,  but  in  the  m'll  husbaudiiig  and  improving  of  time,  and 
such  a  one  may  have  been  wlio  has  longer  continued  in  the  world 
than  the  ordinary  age  of  man,  that  has  yet  lived  but  a  little 
while.  Make  use  of  time  while  it  is  present  with  you.  It 
depends  upon  your  will,  and  not  upon  the  number  of  days,  to 
have  a  sufficient  length  of  life.^ 

A  man's  time,  when  well  husbanded,  is  like  a  cultivated  field, 
of  which  a  few  acres  produce  more  of  what  is  useful  to  life 
than  extensive  provinces,  even  of  the  richest  soil,  when  overrun 
with  weeds  and  brambles.^ 

AVhat  I  do  and  ever  shall  regret  is  the  time  which,  while 
young,  I  lost  in  mere  idleness,  and  in  doing  nothing.  This  is 
the  common  effect  of  the  inconsideracy  of  youth,  against  which 
I  beg  you  will  be  most  carefully  upon  your  guard.  The  value 
of  moments,  when  cast  up,  is  immense,  if  well  employed ;  if 
thrown  away,  their  loss  is  irrecoverable.  Every  moment  may 
be  put  to  some  use,  and  that  with  mucli  more  pleasure  than  if 

unemployed.^ 

Time  is  painted  with  a  lock  before,  and  bald  behind,  signifying 
thereby  that  we  must  take  time  by  the  forelock  ;  for,  when  it  is 
once  past,  there  is  no  recalling  it.^ 

Be  avaricious  of  time ;  do  not  give  any  moment  without, 
receiving  it  in  value ;  only  allow  the  hours  to  go  from  you  with 
as  mucirregret  as  you  give  to  your  gold ;  do  not  allow  a  single 
day  to  pass  without  increasing  the  treasure  of  your  knowledge  and 
virtue.  The  use  of  time  is  a  debt  we  contract  from  birth,  and 
it  should  only  be  paid  with  the  interest  that   our  lives   have 

accumulated.* 

Observe  a  method  in  the  distribution  of  your  time.  Every 
hour  will  then  know  its  proper  employment,  and  no  time 
will    be   lost.      Idleness    will    be    shut    out    at    every    avenue, 


and  with  her  that  numerous  body  of  vices  that  make  up  her 
train. ^ 

Men  of  business  are  accustomed  to  quote  the  maxim  that 
"Time  is  money,"  but  it  is  much  more;  the  proper  improvement 
of  it  is  self-culture,  self-improvement,  and  growth  of  character. 
An  hour  wasted  daily  on  trifles  or  in  indolence,  would,  if  devoted 
to  self-improvement,  make  an  ignorant  man  wise  in  a  few  years, 
and,  employed  in  good  works,  would  make  his  life  fruitful,  and 
death  a  harvest  of  worthy  deeds.  Fifteen  minutes  a  day  devoted 
to  self-improvement  w^ill  be  felt  at  the  end  of  the  year.  Good 
thoughts  and  carefully  gathered  experience  take  up  no  room,  and 
are  carried  about  wdth  us  as  companions  everywhere,  without 
cost  or  incumbrance.  An  economical  use  of  time  is  the  true 
mode  of  securing  leisure ;  it  enables  us  to  get  through  business 
and  carry  it  forward,  instead  of  being  driven  by  it.- 

Work  and  Play. — I  have  seen  it  quoted  from  Aristotle,  that 
*'the  end  of  labor  is  to  gain  leisure.''  It  is  a  great  saying.  We 
have,  in  modern  times,  a  totally  WTong  view  of  the  matter.  Noble 
work  is  a  noble  thing,  but  not  all  Vv'ork.  Most  people  seem  to 
think  that  any  business  is  in  itself  something  grand;  that  to  be 
intensely  employed,  for  instance,  about  something  wdiich  has  no 
truth,  beauty,  or  usefulness  in  it,  which  makes  no  man  happier 
or  wiser,  is  still  the  perfection  of  human  endeavor,  so  that  the 
work  be  intense.  It  is  the  intensity,  not  the  nature,  of  the  work 
that  men  praise.  You  see  the  extent  of  this  feeling  in  little 
things.  People  are  so  ashamed  of  being  caught  for  a  moment 
idle,  that  if  you  come  upon  the  most  industrious  servants  or 
workmen  whilst  they  are  standing  looking  at  something  which 
interests  them,  or  fairly  resting,  they  move  off  in  a  fright,  as  if 
they  were  proved,  by  a  moment's  relaxation,  to  be  neglectful  of 
their  work.     Yet  it  is  the  result   that  they  should  mainly  be 


!I1 


Montaigne. 


2  Hume. 


8  Chesterfield. 


♦  Swift. 


6  Letourneur. 


'Bishop  Home. 


sSmUes. 


298 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATION'S. 


i„d.ca  bv,  and  to  .-hich  they  should  appeal.  But  amongst  all 
c  assc,  th  worldng  itself,  incessant  working,  is  the  th.ng  de.ficd. 
ciassL. ,  iii>-  »  -.vork'    To  pvovidc  for 

^-o^v^vkat  is  the  end  and  object  of  most  yrk.  1 

....inud  .ants.     Kat  a  contemptible  thing  by  any  means,  b u t  s Ul 
,  i.  ...ot  all  in  all  .ith  man.    Moreover, in  those  e.ses  ^d.re   he 
pressure  of  bread-getting  is  fairly  past,  we  do   not  oft  n  find 
In's  exertions  lessened  on  that  account.     They  enter  nUo  the. 
„,inds  as  motives,  ambition,  a  love  of  hoarding,  or  ..  ^a- 
leisure,  things  which,  in  moderation,  may  be  defended  or  e^en 
ustified,  but  which  are  not  so  peremptorily  and  upon  the  face  of 
them  excellent,  that  they  at  once  dignify  excessne  labor. 

The  truth  is,  that  to  work  insatiably  reciulres  much  less  mmd 
than  to  work  iudiciously,  and  less  courage  than  to  refuse  work 
tl.t  can  not  b;  done  honestly.     For  a  hundred  men  whose  app- 
tite  for  work  can  be  driven  on  by  vanity,  avance,  amb  t.on,  or 
.  „.istakcn  notion  of  advancing  their  families,  there  .s  about  one 
.,.  is  desirous  of  expanding  his  own  nature  -d  the  nature  of 
others  in  all  directions,  of  cultivating  many  pursuits,  of  br.ng.ng 
Ui^self  and  those  around  him  in  contact  with  the  universe  m 
manvpoints,ofbcingamanandnotamachme.     .     •     • 

Ko  doubt  hard  work  is  a  great  police  agent.  ^^  -^Tb  dy 
..ere  worked  fro.  morning  till  night,  f  l^^.^f  ^'^  ;^;f^ 
„p  the  register  of  crimes  migl>t  be  greatly  d.mm.shed     But  .hat 

up,        I  e  Where  would  be  the  room  for 

would  become  of  human  nature.'     Wherewou 

.routh  in  such  a  system  of  things?    It  is  through  sorrow  and 

fnirth,  plenty  and  need,  a  variety  of  passions,  circumstances  and 

tempt'atWeven  through  sin  and  ^^'^^^^^f^^^Z 
\       1       1  The  sense  of  the  beautiful,  the  desire 

are  developed.     .     .     •     ^^^^  &cii^c  ,     ,  -n         ;i 

I  comprehending  nature,  the  love  of  personal  sk.ll  a.^ 
prowess,  arc  not  things  implanted  in  men  merely  to  be  absorbed 
L  producing  and  distributing  the  objects  of  our  most  ob.vou. 


HABITS. 


299 


animal  wants.  If  civilization  required  this,  civilization  would 
be  a  failure.  Still  less  should  we  fancy  that  we  are  serving  the 
cause  of  godliness,  when  we  are  discouraging  recreation.  Let  us 
be  hearty  in  our  pleasures,  as  in  our  work,  and  not  think  that 
the  gracious  Being  who  has  made  us  so  open-hearted  to  delight 
looks  with  dissatisfaction  at  our  enjoyment,  as  a  hard  task-master 
might,  who  in  the  glee  of  his  slaves  could  see  only  a  hindrance 
to  their  profitable  working.  And  with  reference  to  our  indi- 
vidual cultivation,  we  may  remember  that  we  are  not  here  to 
promote  incalculable  quantities  of  law,  physic,  or  manufactured 
goods,  but  to  become  men :  not  narrow  pedants,  but  wide-seeing, 
mind-traveled  men.  Who  are  the  men  of  history  to  be  admired 
most?  Those  whom  most  things  became:  who  could  be  weighty 
in  debate,  of  much  device  in  council,  considerate  in  a  sick-room, 
genial  at  a  feast,  joyous  at  a  festival,  capable  of  discourse  with 
many  minds,  large-souled,  not  to  be  shriveled  up  into  any  one 
form,  fashion,  or  temperament.^ 

Work  is  activity  for  an  end ;  play,  activity  as  an  end.  One 
prepares  the  fund  or  resources  of  enjoyment;  the  other  is  enjoy- 
ment itself  Thus,  when  a  man  goes  into  agriculture,  trade,  or 
the  shop,  he  consents  to  undergo  a  certain  expenditure  of  care 
and  labor,  which  is  only  a  form  of  painstaking  rightly  named,  in 
order  to  obtain  some  ulterior  good,  which  is  to  be  his  reward. 
But,  when  the  child  goes  to  his  play,  it  is  no  painstaking,  no 
means  to  an  end ;  it  is  itself  rather  both  end  and  joy.  Accord- 
ingly, it  is  a  part  of  the  distinction  I  state,  that  work  suffers  a 
feeling  of  aversion,  and  play  excludes  aversion.  For  the  moment 
any  play  becomes  wearisome  or  distasteful,  then  it  is  work — an 
activity  that  is  kept  up,  not  as  being  its  own  joy,  but  for  some 
ulterior  end,  or  under  some  kind  of  constraint.^ 

Play  may  not  have  so  high  a  place  in  the  divine  economy,  but 


Helps. 


2  Bushnell. 


3' 


00 


MAN    AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


it  has  as  legitimate  a  place  as  prayer.     Its  direct   importance 
,vhen  ^vc  contemplate  useful  results,  is  not  so  great  as  that  ot 
^vork    but  it  is  essential  to  the  healthful  development  of  the 
.vorkcr,  and  essential  in  keeping  the  machinery  of  work  in  order 
It  is  the  great  harmonizer  of  the  human  faculties,  overstrained  and 
.node  inharmonious  by  labor.     It  is  the  agency  that  keeps  ahve, 
and  in  healthy  activity,  the  faculties  and  sympathies  ^vh.ch  work 
fails  to  use,  or  helps  to  repress.     It  is  the  conservator  of  moral, 
mental,  and  physical  health.     .     .     •     To  every  man  who  has 
the  power  to  spend  a  portion  of  his  time  iu  play,  I  say  that  you 
have  no  right  to  spoil  yourself  by  refusing  to  play.     You  have 
no  ri<^ht  to  prostitute  all  the  noble  faculties  of  your  soul,  and 
the  powers  of  your  frame,  to  the  offices  of  work-to  become  the 
thinc^s,  the  machines,  of  a  calling.     What  you  are  to  be  cai^ful 
aboi^  is,  that  your  play  be  that  ^vhieh  best  relieves  your  labor, 
and  best  prepares  you  for  it ;  that  it  do  not  degenerate  mto  dissi- 
pation, nor  tend  in  vicious  directions  ;  that,  for  the  time,  it  dnve 
^vork  from   vour  mind,  and  be  recognized  as  one  of  its  most 
grateful  rewards.     .     .     •     During  the  hours  of  labor,  the  mind 
should  bend  to  its  faithful  performance,  but,  as  soon  as  they  are 
parsed,  it  should  rise  out  of   work  into  a  free  and  noble  life. 
The  Italian  beggar,  after  obtaining  enough  for  a  dinner,  contents 
himself,  and  gives  himself  „p  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  to 
music  and  macaroni.     This,  you  say,  is  very  stupid,  and  I  think 
it  is  •  b,.t  he  is  more  sensible  than  the  Broadway  merchant  or  the 
Wal'l  street  broker  whose  whole  soul  is  absorbed  by  work-who 
is  in  it  all  dav,  and  who  dreams  of  it  all  night.     We  need  eman- 
cipation, if  for  nothing  else  than  for  the  sake  of  a  decent  family 
life      The  slave  of  work  becomes  an  inharmonious  element  in 
his  own  home  circle.     It  is  pitiful  to  see  the  thousands  scattered 
all  over  the  country  who,  through  insane  devotion  to  business, 


HABITS. 


301 


have  ceased  to  be  husbands  and  fathers,  who  have  no  part  in  the 
family  life  but  to  furnish  funds  for  its  maintenance,  and  who  are 
only  treated  respectfully  by  wives  and  children  because  they  are 
crabbed  and  sour,  or  because  they  carry  the  key  of  the  family 

treasury.^ 

Politeness. — There  is  no  policy  like  politeness ;  and  a  good 
manner  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  either  to  get  a  good  name 
or  supply  the  want  of  it.- 

Among  the   qualities  of   mind  and   heart   which    conduce   to 

worldly  success,  there  is   no   one  the    importance  of  which  is 

more  real,  yet  which  is  so  generally  underrated  at  this  day  by 

the  young,  as  courtesy — that  feeling  of  kindness,  of  love  for  our 

fellows,  w-hich  expresses  itself  in  pleasing  manners.     Owing  to 

that  spirit  of  self-reliance  and  self-assertion,  and  that  contempt 

for  the  forms  and  conventionalities  of  life,  which  our  young  men 

are  trained  to  cherish,  they  are  too  apt  to  despise  those  delicate 

attentions,  those  nameless  and  exquisite  tendernesses  of  thought 

and   manner,   that   mark  the   true   gentleman.     Yet    hi.story   is 

crowded  with  examples  showing  that,  as  in  literature,  it  is  the 

delicate,   indefinable   charm    of   style,   not    the    thought,    which 

makes  a  work  immortal — as  a  dull  actor  makes  Shakespeare's 

crrandest  passages  fiat  and   unprofitable,   while  a  Kean   enables 

you  to  read  them  ''  by  flashes  of  lightning  " — so  it  is  the  bear- 

ivnT  of  a  man  toward  his  fellows   which  oftentimes,  more  than 

any  other  circumstance,  promotes  or  obstructs  his  advancement 

in  life.     We  may  complain,  if  we  will,  that  our  fellow-men  care 

more  for  form  than  substance,  fov  the  superficies  than  the  solid 

contents  of  a  man,  but  the  fact  remains,  and   it  is  the  clew  to 

many   of  the  seeming  anomalies  and  freaks  of   fortune  which 

surprise  us  in  the  matter  of  worldly  prosperity. 

No  doubt  there  are  a  few  men  who  can  look  beyond  the  husk 


1  Holland. 


2  Bulwer 


3Q2  MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 

or  shell   of  a   fellow-bciDg-his  axgularitios,  awkwardness,  or 
eccentricity-to  the  hidden  qualities  within,  who   can    discern 
the  diamond,  however  incrusted  ;  but  the  majority  are  neither  so 
sharn-eved  nor  so  tolerant,  and  judge  a  person  by  his  appearance 
and  demeanor  more  than  by  his  substantial  character.     Dudy 
experience  shows  that  civility  is  not  only  one  of  the  essentials  of 
hiih  success,  but  that  it  is  almost  a  fortune  of  itself,  and  that  he 
.vho  has  this  quality  in  perfection,  though  a  blockhead   .s  almost 
sure  to  get  on  where,  without  it,  even  men  of  high  abd.ty  fad 
"  Give  a  bov  address  and  accomplishments,"  says  Emerson,     and 
^„„  .ive  him  the  mastery  of  palaces  and  fortunes  wherever  he 
eoes  ^  he  has  not  the  trouble  of  earning  or  owning  them  ;  they 
,    solicit  him  to  enter  and  possess."     Among  strangers  a  good  man- 
ner is  the  best  letter  of  recommendation  ;  for  a  great  deal  depends 
upon  first  impressions,  and  these  are  favorable  or  unfavorable, 
according  to  a  man's  bcaring-as  he  is  polite  or  a^vkward,  shy  or 
self-possessed.     While  coarseness  and  gruffness  lock  doors  and 
close  hearts,  courtesy,  refinement,  and  gentleness  are  an      open 
sesame"  at  which  b.dts  fly  back  and  doors  swing  open.     Ihe 
rude,  boorish  man,  even  though  well  .neaning,  is  avoided  by  all. 
Even  virtue  itself  is  offensive  when  coupled  with  an  offensive 
manner.     Hawthorne,  himself  a  shy  man,  used  to  say :  "  God 
,„av  for.Mve  sins,  but  awkwardness  has  no  forgiveness  in  heaven 
or  earth  "     Manners,  in  fact,  are  minor  morals,  and  a  rude  man 
is  gencrdlv  assumed  to  be  a  bad  man.     "  You  had  better,"  .-rote 
Chesterfield  to  his  son,  "return  a  dropped  fan  genteelly  than 
,ive  a  thousand  pounds  awkwardly,  and  you  had  better  refuse  a 
Lorgracefullv  than  grant  it  clumsily.     .     •     •     AllyourGreek 
can  never  advance  you  from  secretary  to  envoy,  or  from  envoy 
to  ambassador,  but  your  address,  your  air,  your  manner,  if  good, 

may." 


HABITS. 


803 


What  a  man  says  or  does  is  often  an  uncertain  test  of  what  he 
is.     It  is  the  way  in  which  he  says  or  does  it  that  furnishes  the 
best  index  of  his  character.     It  is  by  the  incidental  expression 
o-iven  to  his  thouo-hts  and  feelings  by  his  looks,  tones,  and  gest- 
ures,  rather  than  by  his  deeds  or  words,  that  we  prefer  to  judge 
him,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  former  are  involuntary.     One 
may  do  certain  deeds  from  design,  or  repeat  certain  professions 
by  rote ;  honeyed  words  may  mask  feelings  of  hate,  and  kindly 
acts  may  be  performed  expressly  to  veil  sinister  ends,  but  the 
"  manner  of  the  man''  is  not  so  easily  controlled.     The  mode  in 
which  a  kindness  is  done   often  affects  us  more  than  the  deed 
itself.     The  act  itself  may  have  been  prompted  by  one  of  many 
questionable  motives,  as  vanity,  pride,  or  interest;  the  warmth 
or  coldness  with  which  the  person  ^vho  has  done  it  asks  you  how 
you  do,  or  grasps  your  hand,  is  less  likely  to  deceive.     The  man- 
ner of  doing  anything,  it  has  been  truly  said,  is  "  that  which 
marks  the  degree  and  force  of  our  internal  impression;  it  ema- 
nates most  directly  from  our  immediate  or  habitual  feelings ;  it 
is  that  which   stamps   its  life  and  character  on  any  action  ;  the 
rest  may  be  performed  by  an  automaton."     A  favor  may  be  con- 
ferred so  grudgingly  as  to  prevent  any  feeling  of  obligation,  or 
it  mav  be  refused  so  courteously  as  to  awaken  more  kindly  feel- 
ings  than  if  it  had  been  ungraciously  granted.^ 

Bowing  ceremonious,  formal  compliments,  stiff  civilities,  will 
never  be  politeness ;  that  must  be  ea.«y,  natural,  unstudied.  And 
what  will  give  this  but  a  mind  benevolent  and  attentive  to  exert 
that  amiable  disposition  in  trifles  to   all  you  converse  and  live 

with?  2 

Politeness  is  to  goodness  what  words  are  to  thought.  It  tells 
not  onlv  on  the  manners,  but  on  the  mind  and  the  heart;  it  ren- 
ders  the  feelings,  the  opinions,  the  words,  moderate  and  gentle." 


1  Mathews. 


2  Chatham. 


3  Joubcrt. 


304 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


Good  breeding  is  not  confined  to  externals,  mucli  less  to  any 
particular  dress  or  attitude  of  the  body  ;  it  is  the  art  of  pleasing, 
or  contributing  as  much  as  j^ossible  to  the  ease  and  happiness  of 
those  with  Avhom  you  converse.^ 

Among  well-bred  people  a  mutual  deference  is  afiected  ;  con- 
tempt of  others  is  disguised;  authority  concealed  ;  attention  given 
to  each  in  his  turn,  and  an  easy  stream  of  conversation  main- 
tained without  vehemence,  without  interruption,  without  eager- 
ness for  victory,  and  without  any  airs  of  superiority.- 

A  graceful  behavior  toward  superiors,  inferiors,  and  equals  is 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure.  It  ])leases  others,  because  it  indi- 
cates respect  for  their  personality  ;  but  it  gives  tenfold  more 
pleasure  to  ourselves.  Every  man  may,  to  a  large  extent,  be  a 
self-educator  in  good  behavior,  as  in  everything  else ;  he  can  be 
civil  and  kind,  if  he  will,  though  he  have  not  a  penny  in  his 
purse.  Gentleness  in  society  is  like  the  silent  influence  of  light, 
which  gives  color  to  all  nature ;  it  is  far  more  powerful  than 
loudness  or  force,  and  far  more  fruitful.  It  pushes  its  way 
quietly  and  persistently,  like  the  tiniest  daffodil  in  spring,  which 
raises  the  clod  and  thrusts  it  aside  by  the  simple  persistency  of 
growing. 

Morals  and  manners,  which  give  color  to  life,  are  of  greater 
importance  than  laws,  which  are  but  one  of  their  manifestations. 
The  law  touches  us  here  and  there,  but  manners-  are  about  us 
everywhere,  jx^rvading  society  like  the  air  we  breathe.  Good 
manners,  as  we  cull  them,  are  neither  more  nor  less  than  good 
behavior,  consisting  of  courtesy  and  kindness;  for  benevolence 
Is  the  preponderating  element  in  all  kinds  of  mutually  beneficial 
and  pleasant  intercourse  amongst  human  beings.  "  Civility,''  said 
Lady  ^lontague,  "  costs  nothing  and  buys  everything."  The 
cheapest  of  all  things  is  kindness,  its  exercise  requiring  the  least 


^  rielding. 


2  Hume. 


HABITS. 


305 


possible  trouble  and  self-sacrifice.  '^  Win  hearts,''  said  Bur- 
leigh to  Queen  Elizabeth,  "  and  you  have  all  men's  hearts  and 
purses."  If  we  would  only  let  nature  act  kindlv,  free  from 
affectation  and  artifice,  the  results  on  social  good  humor  and 
happiness  would  be  incalculable.  Those  little  courtesies  which 
form  the  small  change  of  life  may  separately  appear  of  little 
intrinsic  value,  but  they  acquire  their  importance  from  repetition 
and  accumulation.  They  are  like  the  spare  minutes,  or  the  groat 
of  a  day,  which  proverbially  ])roduce  such  momentous  results  in 
the  course  of  a  twelvemonth,  or  in  a  lifetime.^ 

I  prefer  a  tendency  to  stateliness  to  an  excess  of  fellowship. 
Let  the  incommunicable  objects  of  nature  and  the  metaphysical 
isolation   of  man  teach    us   independence.      Let  us  not  be  too 
much  acquainted.     I  would  have  a  man  enter  his  house  through 
a  hall  filled  with  heroic  and  sacred  sculptures,  that  he  might  not 
^vant  the  hint  of  tranquillity  and  self-poise.     AVe  should  meet 
each  morning  as  from  foreign  countries,  and,  spending  the  day 
together,  should  depart  at  night,  as  into  foreign  countries.     In  all 
things  I  would  have  the  island  of  a  man  inviolate.     Let  us  sit 
apart  as  the  gods,  talking  from  peak  to  peak  all  around    Olvm- 
pus.     Xo  degree  of  affection  need  invade  this  religion.     This  is 
myrrh  and  rosemary  to  keep  the  other  sweet.     Lovers  should 
guard  their  strangeness.     If  they   forgive  too  much,  all  slides 
into  confusion  and  meanness.     It  is   easy  to  push  this  deference 
to  a  Chinese   etiquette;  but  coolness  and  absence  of  heat  and 
haste  indicate  fine  qualities.     A  gentleman  makes  no  noise:  a 
lady  is  serene.     Proportionate  is  our  disgust  at  those  invaders 
who  fill  a  studious  house  with  blast  and  running,  to  secure  some 
paltry  convenience.     Kot  less  I  dislike  a  low  sympathy  of  each 
with  his  neighbor's  needs.     Must  we  have  a  good  understanding 
with  one  another's  palates,  as    foolish   people    who  have  lived 


21 


1  Smiles. 


S06 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Ions;  together  know  when  each  wants  salt  or  sugar?  I  pray  my 
conrpanlon,  if  he  wishes  for  bread,  to  ask  me  for  bread,  and  if 
he  wishes  for  sassafras  or  arsenic,  to  ask  me  for  them,  and  not 
to  hold  out  his  plate  as  if  I  knew  already.  Every  natural 
function  can  be  dignified  by  deliberation  and  privacy." 

Cleanliness.-So  great  is  the  cifect  of  cleanliness  upon  man, 
that  it  extends  even  to  his  moral  character.  Virtue  never  dwelt 
long  with  filth ;  nor  do  I  believe  there  ever  was  a  person  serupu- 
louslv  attentive  to  cleanliness  who  was  a  consummate  villain.^ 

Beautv  commonly  produces  love,  but  cleanliness  preserves  it. 
Age  itself  is  not  unamiable  while  it  is  preserved  clean  and  un- 
suUied;  like  a  piece  of  metal  constantly  kept  smooth  and  bright, 
we  look  on  it  with  more  pleasure  than  on  a  new  vessel  cankered 

with  rust.' 

Be  careful  of  your  personal  appearance.     I  do  not  ask  you  to 
follow  the  fashions— to  lay  the  neck  bare  one  week,  and  cover 
it  with  locks  the  next— to   comb  the  hair  one  way  to-day  and 
another  wav  to-morrow;  but  I  do  ask  you  to  have  as   much 
mercy  upon  your  own  head  as  you  do  upon  your  horse's ;  and 
while  vou  direct  the  groom  to  use  the  curry-comb,  see  that  the 
barber  uses  the  comb.     It  has  been  said  that  cleanliness  is  next 
thing  to   godliness,   and   we  have  often   wished   that  ablutions 
were" a  part  of  our  religion.     We  hope  to  see  the  day  when  the 
bath-room  shall  be  as  common  as  the  kitchen.     We  think  we 
shall  then  have  cleaner  prose,  clearer  music,  and  sweeter  poetry. 
The  mind  partakes  in  the  comforts  and  distresses  of  the  body. 
O,  for   clear  fountains  and  cooling    streams!      Methinks  they 
can  almost  put  out  the  fire  of  passion,  and  spread  good  nature 
through  the  soul.     Would  you  be  in  gooft  humor  with  yourself, 
pay  due  respect  to  your  wash-stand.      In  cleanliness  is  seen  one 
of  the  great  differences  between  the  pagan  and  the  Christian. 


1  Emerson. 


:  Rumford. 


8  Addison. 


HABITS. 


307 


The  sweetness  of  the  sanctified  spirit  sheds  its  influences  upon 
the  person.^ 

It  is  universally  agreed  upon,  that  no  one,  unadorned  with 
this- virtue,  can  go  into  company  without  giving  a  manifest 
offense.  The  easier  or  higher  any  one's  fortune  is,  this  duty 
rises  proportionately.  The  different  nations  of  the  world  are  as 
much  distinguished  by  their  cleanliness  as  by  their  arts  and 
sciences.  The  more  any  country  is  civilized,  the  more  thev  con- 
sult this  part  of  politeness.  AVe  need  but  compare  our  ideas  of 
a  female  Hottentot  and  an  English  beauty,  to  be  satisfied  of  the 
truth  of  what  hath  been  advanced. 

In  the  next  place,  cleanliness  may  be  said  to  be  the  foster- 
mother  of  love.     Beauty,  indeed,  most  commonly  produces  that 
passion  in  the  mind,  but  cleanliness  preserves  it.     An  indiffbrent 
face  and  person,  kept  in  perpetual  neatness,  hath  won  many  a 
heart  from  a  i)retty  slattern. 
.      I  might  observe  further,  that  as  cleanliness  renders  us  agree- 
able to  others,  so  it  makes  us  easy  to  ourselves;  that  it  t  an 
excellent  preservative  of  health;  and  that  several  vices,  destruc- 
tive both  to  mind  and  body,  are  inconsistent  with  the  habit  of 
it.     But   these    reflections    I   shall  leave  to  the    leisure  of  my 
readers,  and  shall  observe,  in  the  third  place,  that  it  bears  a 
great  analogy  with  purity  of  mind,  and  naturally  inspires  refined 
sentiments  and  2>assions. 

We  find  from  experience  that,  through  the  prevalence  of 
custom,  the  most  vicious  actions  lose  their  horror  by  being  made 
familiar  to  us.  On  the  contrary,  those  who  live  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  good  examples  fly  from  the  first  appearances  of  what  is 
shocking.  It  fares  with  us  much  after  the  same  manner  as  to 
our  ideas.  Our  senses,  which  are  the  inlets  to  all  the  images 
conveyed  to  the  mind,  can  only  transmit  the  impression  of  si^ch 

1  Bishop  Thomson. 


•W 


308 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


HABITS. 


309 


things  as  usually  surround  them.  So  that  pure  and  unsullied 
thoughts  are  naturally  suggested  to  the  mind,  by  those  objects 
that   perpetually  encompass  us,   ^vhen  they   are   beautiful   and 

elegant  in  their  kind.^ 

Cleanliness  is  more  than  \vholesomeness.  It  furnishes  an 
atmosphere  of  self-respect,  and  influences  the  moral  condition  of 
the  entire  househokL  It  is  the  best  exponent  of  the  spirit  of 
Thrift.  It  is  to  the  economy  of  the  household  what  hygiene  is 
to  the  human  body.  It  should  preside  at  every  detail  of  domestic 
service.  It  indicates  comfort  and  well-being.  It  is  among  the 
distinctive  attributes  of  civilization,  and  marks  the  progress  of 

nations. 

Dr.  Paley  was  accustomed  to  direct  the  particular  attention  of 
travelers  m  foreign  countries  to  the  condition  of  the  people  as 
respects  cleanliness,  and  the  local  provisions  for  the  prevention 
of  pollution.  He  was  of  opinion  that  a  greater  insight  might 
thus  be  obtained  into  their  habits  of  decency,  self-respect,  and 
industry,  and  into  their  moral  and  social  condition  generally, 
than  from  facts  of  any  other  description.  People  are  cleanly  in 
proportion  as  they  are  decent,  industrious  and  self-respecting. 
Unclean  people  are  uncivilized.  The  dirty  classes  of  great  towns 
are  invariably  the  "  dangerous  classes  "  of  those  towns.  And  if 
we  would  civilize  the  classes  yet  uncivilized,  we  must  banish  dirt 

from  among  them. 

Yet  dirt  forms  no  part  of  our  nature.  It  is  a  parasite,  feeding 
upon  human  life  and  destroying  it.  It  is  hideous  and  disgusting. 
There  can  be  no  beauty  where  it  is.  The  prettiest  woman  is 
made  repulsive  by  it.  Children  are  made  fretful,  impatient,  and 
bad-tempered  by  it.  Men  are  degraded  and  made  reckless  by  it. 
There  is  little  modesty  where  dirt  is,  for  dirt  is  indecency. 
There  can  be  little  purity  of  mind  where  the  person  is  impure; 


for  the  body  is  the  temple  of  tlie  soul,  and  must  be  cleansed  and 
purified  to  be  w^orthy  of  the  shrine  within.  Dirt  has  an  affinity 
with  self-indulgence  and  drunkenness.  The  sanitary-  inquirers 
have  clearly  made  out  that  the  dirty  classes  are  the  drunken 
classes;  and  that  they  are  prone  to  seek,  in  the  stupefaction  of 
beer,  gin,  and  opium,  a  refuge  from  the  miserable  depression 
caused  by  the  foul  conditions  in  which  they  live. 

AYc  need  scarcely  refer  to  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical 
beauty  of  cleanliness — cleanliness  which  indicates  self-resi^ect, 
and  is  the  root  of  many  fine  virtues,  and  especially  of  purity, 
delicacy,  and  decency.  We  might  even  go  further,  and  say  that 
purity  of  thought  and  feeling  results  from  habitual  2)urity  of 
body ;  for  the  mind  and  heart  of  man  are,  to  a  very  great  extent, 
influenced  by  external  conditions  and  circumstances;  and  habit 
and  custom,  as  regards  outward  things,  stamp  themselves  deeply 
on  the  whole  character,  alike  upon  the  moral  feelings  and  the 
intellectual  powers. 

Moses  was  the  most  practical  of  sanitary  reformers.  Among 
the  Eastern  nations  generally,  cleanliness  is  a  part  of  religion. 
They  esteem  it  not  only  as  next  to  godliness,  but  as  a  part  of 
godliness  itself.  They  connect  the  idea  of  internal  sanctity  with 
that  of  external  purification.  They  feel  that  it  would  be  an 
insult  to  the  Maker  they  worship  to  come  into  His  presence 
covered  with  impurity.  Hence  the  Mohammedans  devote 
almost  as  much  care  to  the  erection  of  baths  as  to  that  of 
mosques;  and  alongside  the  place  of  worship  is  usually  found 
the  place  of  cleansing,  so  that  the  faithful  may  have  the  ready 
means  of  purification  previous  to  their  act  of  worship. 

"What  worship,"  says  a  great  writer,  "is  there  not  in  mere 
washing !  perhaps  one  of  the  most  moral  things  a  man,  in  com- 
mon cases,  has  it  in  his  powTr  to  do.     Strip  thyself,  go  into  the 


1  British  Essayists. 


310 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Lath,  or  were  it  Into  the  limpid  pool  of  u  running  brook,  and 
there  wash  and  be  clean ;  thou  wilt  step  out  again  a  purer  and  a 
better  man.  This  consciousness  of  perfect  outer  purencss — that 
to  thy  skin  there  now  adheres  no  foreign  speck  of  imperfection — 
how  it  radiates  on  thee,  with  cunning  symbolic  influences  to  thy 
very  soul!  Thou  hast  an  increased  tendency  toward  all  good 
things  whatsoever.  The  oldest  Eastern  sages,  w^ith  joy  and  holy 
gratitude,  had  felt  it  to  be  so,  and  tliat  it  was  the  Maker's  gift 
and  will.''^ 

Tobacco. — Here  is  a  drug  that  a  young  man  is  obliged  to 
become  accustomed  to  before  he  can  tolerate  either  the  taste  or 
the  effect  of  it.     It  is  a  rank  vegetable  poison,  and  in  the  unac- 
customed animal  produces  vertigo,  faintncss.  and  horrible  sick- 
ness.    Yet  young  men  persevere  in  the  use  of  it  until  they  can 
endure  it,  and  then  until  they  love  it.     They  go  about  the  streets 
with  cigars  in  their  mouths,  or  into  society  with  breath  suffi- 
ciently offensive  to  drive  all  unperverted  nostrils  before  them. 
They  chew  tobacco — roll  up  huge  wads  of  the  vile  drug,  and 
stuff  their  cheeks  w^ith  them.     They  ejaculate  their  saliva  upon 
the  sidewalk,  in  the  store,  in  spittoons  which  become  incorporate 
stenches,  in  dark  corners  of  railroad  cars  to  stain  the  white  skirts 
of  unsuspecting  women,  in  lecture-rooms  and  churches,  upon 
fences,  and  into  stoves  that  hiss  with  anger  at  the  insult.     And 
the  quids  after  they  are  ejected !     They  are  to  be  found  in  odd 
corners,  in  out-of-the-way  places— great  bowlders,  boluses,  bulbs! 
Horses  stumble  over  them,  dogs  bark  at  them;    they  poison 
young  shade-trees,  and  break  down  the  constitutions  of  sweep- 
ers.    This  may  be  an  exaggeration  of  the  facts,  but  not  of  the 
disgust  with  which  one  writes  of  them.     Xow,  young  men,  just 
think  of  this  thing !     You  are  born  into  the  world  with  a  sweet 
breath.     At  a  proper  age,  you  acquire  a  good  set  of  teeth.     Why 


1  Smiles. 


iB®aBr.-i^g!^S32SSa,.,,JS»S22S^rB.'^X . 


HABITS. 


311 


will  you  make  of  one  a  putrescent  exhalation,  and  of  the  other 
a  set  of  yellow  pegs?  A  proper  description  of  the  habit  of 
chewing  tobacco  would  exhaust  the  filthy  adjectives  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  spoil  the  adjectives  themselves  for  further  use;  and 
yet  you  will  acquire  the  habit,  and  persist  in  it  after  it  is  acquired! 
It  is  very  singular  that  youAg  men  will  adopt  a  habit  of  which 
every  man  who  is  its  victim  is  ashamed.  There  is,  probably,  no 
tobacco-chewer  in  the  world  who  would  advise  a  voumr  man  to 
commence  this  habit.  I  have  never  seen  a  slave  of  tobacco  who 
did  not  regret  his  bondage ;  yet,  against  all  advice,  ngainst 
nausea  and  disgust,  against  cleanliness,  against  every  considera- 
tion of  health  and  comfort,  thousands  everv  vear  bow  the  neck 
to  this  drug,  and  consent  to  wear  its  repulsive  yoke.  Tliey  will 
chew  it;  they  will  smoke  it  in  cigars  and  pipes  until  their  bed- 
rooms and  shops  can  not  be  breathed  in,  and  until  their  breath 
is  as  rank  as  the  breath  of  a  foul  beast,  and  their  clothes  have 
the  odor  of  the  sewer.  Some  of  them  take  snuff,  cram  the  fierv 
weed  up  their  nostrils  to  irritate  that  subtle  sense  which  rarest 
flowers  were  made  to  feed — in  all  this  working;  aixainst  God, 
abusing  nature,  perverting  sense,  injuring  health,  planting  tha 
seeds  of  disease,  and  insulting  the  decencies  of  life  and  the  noses 
of  the  world. 

So  much  for  the  nature  of  the  habit ;  and  I  would  stop  here 
but  for  the  fact  that  I  am  in  earnest,  and  wish  to  present  everv 
motive  in  my  power  to  prevent  young  men  from  forming  the 
habit,  or  persuade  them  to  abandon  it.  The  habit  of  using 
tobacco  is  expensive.  A  clerk  on  a  modest  salary  has  no  right 
to  be  seen  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  Three  cigars  a  day,  at  five 
cents  apiece,  amount  to  more  than  fifty  dollars  a  year.  Can  vou 
afford  it?  You  know  you  can  not.  You  know  that  to  do  this 
you  will  either  be  compelled  to  run  in  debt  or  steal.     Therefore, 


*-^^*»:sss;:;r,^a^«s^!^g:rsi^ 


312 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


I  say  that  you  have  no  business  to  he  seen  with  a  cigar  in  your 
mouth.  It  is  presumptive  evidence  against  your  moral  char- 
acter. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  what  you  are,  what  you  are  made  for, 
whither  you  are  going  ?  That  beautiful  body  of  yours,  in  whose 
construction  Infinite  Wisdom  exhausted  the  resources  of  Its  in- 
genuity, is  the  temple  of  a  soul  that  shall  live  forever,  a  com- 
panion of  angels,  a  searcher  into  the  deep  things  of  God,  a  being 
allied  in  essence  to  the  Divine.  I  say  the  body  is  the  temple,  or 
the  tabernacle,  of  such  a  being  as  this ;  and  what  do  you  think 
of  stuffing  the  front  door  of  such  a  building  full  of  the  most  dis- 
gusting weeds  that  you  can  find,  or  setting  a  slow  match  to  it, 
or  filling  the  chimneys  with  snuff?  It  looks  to  me  much  like 
an  endeavor  to  smoke  out  the  tenant,  or  to  insult  him  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  induce  him  to  quit  the  premises.  You  really  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  your  behavior.  A  clean  mouth,  a  sweet  breath, 
unstained  teeth,  and  inoffensive  clothing— are  not  these  treasures 
worth  preserving?  Then  throw  away  tobacco,  and  all  thoughts 
of  it,  at  once  and  forever.     Be  a  man.^ 

I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  experience  on  this  subject— in  fact, 
I  once  smoked  nearly  an  inch  of  cigar  myself.  It  served  me 
rifdit  and  I  have  never  since  had  an  inclination  to  outrage 
human  nature  and  insult  decency  in  any  such  way.  I  was  then 
some  six  vears  old,  and  naturally  aspiring  to  the  accomplish- 
ments  of  manhood  and  gentility ;  but  the  lesson  I  then  received 
will  suffice  for  my  whole  life,  though  it  should  be  spun  out  to 
the  length  of  Methuselah's.  I  have  since  endured  my  share  of 
the  fumigations  and  kindred  abominations  of  tobacco,  but  I  have 

inflicted  none. 

I  wish  some  budding  Elia,  not  a  slave  to  narcotic  sensualism, 
would  favor  us  with  an  essay  on  "The  Natural  Affinities  of 


HABITS. 


313 


Tobacco  with  Blackguardism."     The  materials  for  it  are  abun- 
dant, and  you  have  but  to  open  your  eyes  (or  nostrils)  in  any 
city  promenade  (glorious  Boston  excepted),  in  any  village  bar- 
room, to  find  yourself  confronted  by  them.     Is  Broadway  sunny, 
yet  airy,  with  the  atmosphere  genial  and  inviting,  so  that  fair 
maidens  (and  eke  observing  bachelors)  throng  the  two-shilling 
sidewalk,   glad   to   enjoy,   and    not  unwilling    to    be    admired? 
Hither  (as  Satan  into  Paradise,  but  not  half  so  gentlemanly)  hie 
the  host  of  tobacco-smoking  loafers,  to  puff  their  detested  fumes 
into  the  faces  and  eyes  of  abhorring  purity  and  loveliness,  to 
spatter  the  walk,  and  often  soil  the  costly  and  delicate  dresses  of 
the    promenaders,  with  their  vile   expectorations.      And,  even 
should   the  smokers  forbear  to   besmear  the  outraged,  but  pa- 
tiently enduring,  flagstones  with  their  foul  saliva,  the  chewers 
will  not  be  far  behind  (as  the  Kevelator  saw  "  Death  on  the  pale 
horse,  and  Hell  following  after''),  industriously  polluting  the 
fair  face  of  earth,  as  their  precursors  have  poisoned  the  sweet 
breath  of  heaven.     How  long,  oh!  how  long,  must  all  this  be 
suffered  ? 

I  have  intimated  that  the  tobacco-consumer  is — not,  indeed, 
necessarily  and  inevitably,  but  naturally  and  usually— a  black- 
guard ;  that  chewing  or  smoking  obviously  tends  to  blackguard- 
ism. Can  any  man  doubt  it?  Let  him  ride  with  uncorrupted 
senses  in  the  stage  or  omnibus,  which  the  chewer  insists  ou 
defiling  with  the  liquid  product  of  his  incessant  labors,  seeming 
unconscious  of  its  utter  offensiveness,  and  which  even  the  smoker, 
especially  if  partly  or  wholly  drunk,  will  also  insist  on  trans- 
forming into  a  miniature  Tophet  by  his  exhalations,  defying 
alike  the  express  rule  of  the  coach  and  the  sufferer's  urgent  re- 
monstrances, if  he  can  only  say :  "  Why,  there's  no  lady  here.'^ 
["No  ladies^'  is  his  expression,  but  the  plea  is  execrable  enough, 


1  Dr.  Holland. 


314 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


though  expressed  grammatically.]     Go  Into  a  public  gathering, 
^vhcrc  a  speaker  of  delicate  lungs,  and  an  invincible  repulsion  to 
tobacco,   is  trying  to   discuss  some   important  topic   so   that  a 
thousand  men  can  hear  and  understand  him,  yet  whereinto  ten 
or  twenty    smokers    have    introduced    themselves,   a   long-nine 
projecting  horizontally  from  beneath  the  nose  of  each,  a  fire  at 
one  end  and  a  fool  at  the  other,  and  mark  how  the  puff,  puffing, 
gradually  transforms  the  atmosphere  (none    too    pure    at    best) 
into  that  of  some  foul  and  pestilential  cavern,  choking  the  utter- 
ance of  the  speaker,  and  distracting  (by  annoyance)  the  attention 
of  the  hearers,  until  the  argument  is  arrested,  or  its  effect  utterly 
destroved.     If  he  who  will  selfislilv,  recklessly,  impudently  in- 
flict  so  much  discomfort  and  annoyance  on   many,  in  order  that 
he  may  enjoy  in  a  particular  place  an  indulgence  which  could  as 
well  be  enjoved  where  no  one  else  would  be  affected  by  it,  be  not 
a  blackguard,  who  ca?i  be?     AVhat  could  indicate  bad  breeding 
and  a  bad  heart,  if  such  conduct  does  not?     "Brethren!"  said 
Parson  Strong,  of  Hartford,  preaching   a  Connecticut  election 
sermon,  in  high-party  times,  some  fifty  years  ago,  "  it  has  been 
charged  that   I   have  said  every  Democrat  is  a  horse-thief:    I 
never  did.     AVhat  I  did  say  was  only^that  every  horse-thief  is  a 
Democrat,  and  thcd  I  can  prove."     So  I  do  not  say  that  every 
smoker  or  chewer  is  necessarily  a  blackguard,  however  steep  the 
proclivity  that  way ;  but  show  me  a  genuine  blackguard — one 
of  the  b'hoys,  and  no  mistake— who  is  not  a  lover  of  tobacco  in 
some  shape,  and  I  will  agree  to  find  you  two  white  blackbirds.^ 
Intemperance. — There  is  the  habit  of  using  strong  drink — 
not  the  habit  of  getting  drunk,  with  most  young  men,  but  the 
habit  of  taking  drink  occasionally  in  its  milder  forms— of  play- 
ing with  a  small  appetite  that  only  needs  sufficient  playing  with 
to  make  you  a  demon  or  a  dolt.     You  think  you  are  safe.     I 


Greeley. 


t^-"^'^^-^^  1S2_u.-'i^*        ir^-  --  ^ 


HABITS. 


815 


know  you  are  not  safe,  if  you  drink  at  all;  and  when  you  get 
offended  with  the  good  friends  who  warn  you  of  your  dano-er 
you  are  a  fool.  I  know  that  the  grave  swallows  daily,  by  scores 
drunkards,  every  one  of  whom  thought  he  was  safe  while  he  was 
forming  his  appetite.  But  this  is  old  talk.  A  young  man  in  this 
age  who  forms  the  habit  of  drinking,  or  puts  himself  in  danger 
of  forming  the  habit,  is  usually  so  weak  that  it  doesn't  pay  to 
save  him.^ 

I  never  drink  ;  I  can  not  do  it  on  equal  terms  with  others. 
It  costs  them  only  one  day,  but  me  three— the  first  in  sinning, 
the  second  in  suffering,  and  the  third  in  repenting.^ 

Now,  amongst  the  rest,  drunkenness  seems  to  me  to  be  a  gross 
and  brutish  vice.  The  soul  has  the  greatest  interest  in  all  the 
rest,  and  there  are  some  vices  that  have  something— if  a  man 
may  so  say— generous  in  t!icm.  There  are  vices  wherein  there 
is  a  mixture  of  knowledge,  diligence,  valor,  prudence,  dexterity, 
and  cunning;  this  is  totally  corporal  and  earthly,  and  the 
thickest-skulled  nation  this  day  in  Europe  is  that  where  it  is 
the  most  in  fashion.  Other  vices  discompose  the  understanding; 
this  totally  overthrows  it,  and  renders  the  body  stupid.^ 

The  habit  of  using  ardent  spirits,  by  men  in  office,  has  occa- 
sioned more  injury  to  the  public,  and  more  trouble  to  me,  than 
all  other  causes ;  and  were  I  to  commence  my  administration 
again,  the  first  question  I  would  ask,  respecting  a  candidate  for 
office,  would  be:  "  Does  he  use  ardent  spirits?"^ 

When  this  vice  has  taken  flist  hold  on  a  man,  farewell  indus- 
try, farewell  emulation,  farewell  attention  to  things  worthy  of 
attention,  farewell  love  of  virtuous  society,  farewell  decency  of 
manners,  and  farewell,  too,  even  an  attention  to  person  ;  every- 
thing is  sunk  by  this  predominant  and  brutal  appetite.  In  how 
many  instances  do  we  see  men  who  have  begun  life  ^vith  the 


» HoUand. 


2Steme. 


'  Montaigne. 


<  Jefferson. 


316 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


brio-litest  prospects  before  them,  and  who  have  closed  it  without 
one  rav  of  comfort  and  consolation  !  Young  men  with  good 
fortunes,  good  talents,  good  tempers,  good  hearts,  and  sound 
constitutions,  only  by  being  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  the  drunk- 
ard have  become  by  degrees  the  most  loathsome  and  despicable 
of  mankind.  In  the  house  of  the  drunkard  there  is  no  happi- 
ness for  any  one.  All  is  uncertainty  and  anxiety.  He  is  not 
the  same  man  for  any  one  day  at  a  time.  No  one  knows  of  his 
outo-oin^rs  or  his  incomings.  When  he  will  rise,  or  when  he  will 
lie  down  to  rest,  is  wholly  a  matter  of  chance.  That  which  he 
swallows  for  what  he  calls  pleasure  brings  pain  as  surely  as  the 
night  brings  the  morning.  Poverty  and  misery  are  in  the  train. 
To  avoid  these  results  we  are  called  upon  to  make  no  sacrifice. 
Abstinence  requires  no  aid  to  accomplish  it;  our  own  will 
is  all  that  is  requisite ;  and  if  we  have  not  the  will  to  avoid 
contempt,  disgrace,  and   misery,  we   deserve   neither  relief  nor 

compassion.^ 

It  (the  Mse  of  intoxicating  liquors  in  ten  years)  has  cost  the 
nation  (United  States  of  America)  a  direct  expenditure  of  GOO,- 
000,000  of  dollars.  2.  It  has  cost  the  nation  an  indirect  expense 
of  §600,000,000.  3.  It  has  destroyed  300,000  lives.  4.  It  has 
sent  100,000  to  the  poor-house.  5.  It  has  consigned  at  least 
150,000  to  the  jails  and  penitentiaries.  6.  It  has  made  at  least 
1,000  maniacs.  7.  It  has  instigated  to  the  commission  of  1,500 
murders.  8.  It  has  caused  2,000  persons  to  commit  suicide.  9. 
It  has  burned  or  otherwise  destroyed  property  to  the  amount  of 
10,000,000  of  dollars.  10.  It  has  made  200,000  widows  and 
100,000  orphan  children.^ 

There  ha«,  in  all  ages  and  climes,  been  a  tendency  to  the 
improper  use  of  stimulants.  Noah,  as  if  disgusted  with  the 
prevalence  of  water  in  his  time,  took  to  strong  drink.     By  this 


J  Cobbett. 


2  Everett. 


f^»?s«WW*WS!f^3!SOT^!#'?^SW'''^-?J®rasM<'4r  ■ 


HABITS. 


817 


vice  Alexander  the  Conqueror  was  conquered.  The  Itomans,  at 
their  feasts,  fell  off  their  seats  with  intoxication.  Four  hundred 
millions  of  our  race  are  opium-eaters.  India,  Turkey,  and  China 
have  groaned  with  the  desolation,  and  by  it  have  been  quenched 
such  lights  as  Haller  and  Be  Quincey.  One  hundred  millions 
are  the  victims  of  the  betel-nut,  which  has  specially  accursed  the 
East  Indies.  Three  hundred  millions  chew  hashish,  and  Persia, 
Brazil,  and  Africa  suffer  the  delirium.  The  Tartars  employ 
murowa ;  the  Mexicans  the  agave ;  the  people  of  Guarapo  an 
intoxicating  quality  taken  from  sugar-cane,  while  a  great  multi- 
tude, that  no  man  can  number,  are  the  disciples  of  alcohol.  To 
it  they  bow;  in  its  trenches  they  fall;  in  its  awful  prison  they 
are  incarcerated;  on  its  ghastly  holocaust  they  burn.     .     .     . 

But  how  are  we  to  contend  ? 

First,  by  getting  our  children  right  on  this  subject.  Let  them 
grow  up  with  an  utter  aversion  to  strong  drink.  Take  care  how 
you  administer  it,  even  as  medicine.  If  you  find  that  they  have 
a  natural  love  for  it,  as  some  have,  put  in  a  glass  of  it  some 
horrid  stuff  and  make  it  utterly  nauseous.  Teach  them,  as  faith- 
fullv  as  vou  do  the  catechism,  that  rum  is  a  fiend.  Take  them 
to  the  alms-house  and  show  them  the  wreck  and  ruin  it  works. 
"Walk  with  them  into  the  homes  that  have  been  scourged  by  it. 
If  a  drunkard  hath  fallen  into  a  ditch,  take  them  right  up  w^here 
they  can  see  his  face,  bruised,  savage,  and  swollen,  and  say: 
^*  Look,  my  son ;  Rum  did  that !" 

Looking  out  of  your  window  at  some  one  -w  ho,  intoxicated  to 
madness,  goes  through  the  street  brandishing  his  fist,  blasphem- 
ing God — a  howling,  defying,  shouting,  reeling,  raving  and 
foaming  maniac — say  to  your  son :  '^  Look  ;  that  man  was  once 
a  child  like  you  !''  As  you  go  by  the  grog-shop,  let  your  boy 
know  that  that  is  the  j^lace  where  men  are  slain,  and  their  wives 


318 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


made  paupers,  aiul  their  children  slaves  !  Hold  out  to  your 
children  all  warnings,  all  rewards,  all  counsels,  lest  in  after  days 
they  break  your  heart  and  curse  your  gray  hairs. 

A  man  laughed  at  my  father  for  his  scrupulous  temperance 
principles,  and  said :  ''  I  am  more  liberal  than  you ;  I  always 
give  my  children  the  sugar  in  the  glass  after  we  have  been  taking 
a  drink."  Three  of  his  sons  have  died  drunkards,  and  the  fourth 
is  imbecile  through  intemperate  habits. 

A^rain,  we  v/ill  battle  this  evil  at  the  ballot-box.  How  many 
men  are  there  who  can  rise  above  the  feelings  of  partisanship 
and  demand  that  our  officials  shall  be  sober  men  ?     .     .     . 

I  think  that  we  are  coming  at  last  to  treat  inebriation  as  it 
ought  to  be  treated — namely,  as  an  awful  disease  ;  self-inflicted, 
to  be  sure,  but  nevertheless  a  disease.  Once  fastened  u])on  a 
man,  sermons  will  not  cure  him ;  temperance  lectures  will  not 
eradicate  the  taste  ;  religious  tracts  Avill  not  remove  it ;  the  Gos- 
pel of  Christ  wiP  not  arrest  it.  Once  under  the  power  of  this 
awful  thirst,  the  m.an  is  bound  to  go  on  ;  and,  if  the  foaming 
glass  were  on  the  other  side  of  perdition,  he  would  wade  through 
the  fires  of  hell  to  get  it.  A  young  man  in  prison  had  such  a 
strong  thirst  for  intoxicating  liquors,  that  he  cut  off  his  liand  r,t 
the  wrist,  called  for  a  bowl  of  brandy  in  order  to  stop  the 
blccdin^^  thrust  his  wrist  into  the  bowl,  and  then  drank  the 
contents. 

Stand  not,  when  the  thirst  is  on  him,  between  a  man  and  his 
cups  !  Clear  the  track  for  him  !  Awny  with  the  children  ;  he 
would  tread  their  life  out !  Away  with  the  wife ;  he  would  dasli 
her  to  death !  Away  with  the  Cross ;  he  would  run  it  down ! 
Away  with  the  Bible;  he  w^ould  tear  it  up  for  the  w^inds  !  Away 
with  heaven  ;  he  considers  it  worthless  as  a  straw !  "  Give  me 
the  drink  !     Give  it  to  me !     Though  hands  of  blood  pass  up  the 


HABITS. 


319 


bowl,  and  the  soul  trembles  over  the  pit — the  drink  !  give  it  to 
me!  Though  it  be  pale  with  tears;  though  the  froth  of  ever- 
lasting anguish  float  in  the  foam — give  it  to  me !  I  drink  to  my 
wife's  woe;  to  my  children's  rags;  to  my  eternal  banishment 
from  God,  and  hope,  and  heaven!     Give  it  to  me!  the  drink !"^ 

Impuee  Thought. — You  who  are  so  modest  in  the  presence 
of  women — so  polite  and  amiable ;  you  who  are  invited  into 
families  where  there  are  pure  and  virtuous  girls ;  you  who  go  to 
church,  and  seem  to  be  such  a  pattern  young  man  ;  you  who 
very  possibly  neither  smoke,  nor  chew,  nor  snuff,  nor  swear,  nor 
drink — you  have  one  habit  ten  times  worse  than  all  these  put 
together — a  habit  that  makes  you  a  whited  sepulchre,  fair  with- 
out, but  within  full  of  dead  men's  bones  and  all  uncleanncss. 
You  have  a  habit  of  impure  thought,  that  poisons  the  very 
springs  of  your  life.  It  may  lead  you  into  lawless  indulgences, 
or  it  may  not.  So  far  as  your  character  is  concerned,  it  makes 
little  difference.  A  young  man  who  cherishes  impure  images, 
and  indulges  in  impure  conversations  with  his  associates,  is 
poisoned.  There  is  rottenness  in  him.  He  is  not  to  be  trusted. 
Hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  are  living  in  unhappincss  and 
degradation  to-day  who  owe  their  unhappy  lives  to  an  early 
habit  of  impure  thought.  To  a  young  man  who  has  become 
poisoned  in  this  way,  women  all  appear  to  be  vicious  or  weak ; 
and  when  a  young  man  loses  his  respect  for  the  sex  made  sacred 
by  the  relations  of  mother  and  sister,  he  stands  upon  the  crum- 
blinjr  ed^re  of  ruin.  His  sensibilities  are  killed,  and  his  moral 
nature  almost  beyond  the  reach  of  regeneration.  I  believe  it  to 
be  true  that  a  man  who  has  lost  his  belief  in  women  has,  as  a 
general  thing,  lost  his  faith  in  God. 

The  only  proper  way  to  treat  such  a  habit  as  this  is  to  fly  from 
it — discard  it — expel  it — fight  it  to  the  death.     Impure  thought 


^  Talmage. 


320 


MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


HABITS. 


321 


is  a  moral  drug  quite  as  seductive  and  poisonous  to  tlie  soul  as 
tobacco  is  to  the  body.     It  perverts  the  tone  of  every  fiber  of 

the  soul.^ 

If  we  could  get  at  the  secret  histories  of  those  who  stand  sud- 
denly discovered  as  vicious,  wc  should  find  that  they  had  been 
through  this  most  polluting  preparatory  process;  that  they  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  going  out  and  meeting  temptation  in  order 
that  they  might  enjoy  its  excitements;  that  underneath  a  blame- 
less outward  life  thev  have  welcomed  and  entertained  sin  in 
their  imaginations,  until  their  moral  sense  was  blunted,  and  they 
were  ready  for  the  deed  of  which  they  thought  they  were  in- 
capable.    .     .     . 

This  world  of  sense,  built  by  the  imagination—how  fair  and 
foul  it  is!     Like  a  fairy  island  in  the  sea  of  life,  it  smiles  in 
sunlight  and  sleeps  in  green,  known  of  the  world  not  by  com- 
munion of  knowledge,  but  by  personal,  secret  discovery  !     The 
waves  of  everv  ocean  kiss  its  feet.     The  airs  of  every  clime  play 
among  its  trees,  and  tire  with  the  voluptuous  music  which  they 
bear.     Flowers  bend  idly  to  the  fall  of  fountains,  and  beautiful 
forms  are  wreathing  their  white  arms,  and  calling  for  compan- 
ionship.    Out  toward  this  charmed  island,  by  day  and  by  night, 
a  million  shallops  push  unseen  of  each  other,  and  of  the  world 
of  real  life  left  behind,  for  revelry  and  reward!     The  single 
sailors  never  meet  each  other;  they  tread  the  same  paths  un- 
known of  each  other ;  they  come  back,  and  no  one  knows,  and 
no  one  asks  where  they  have  been.     Again  and  again  is  tlie  visit 
repeated,  with  no  absolutely  vicious  intention,  yet  not  without 
gathering  the  taint  of  vice.     If  God's  light  could  shine  upon 
this  crowded  sea,  and  discover  the  secrets  of  the  island  which  it 
invests,  what  shameful  retreats  and  encounters  should  we  wit- 
ness :  fathers,  mothers,  maidens,  men— children  oven,  whom  we 

1  Holland. 


had  deemed  as  pure  as  snow — flying  with  guilty  eyes  and  white 
lips  to  hide  themselves  from  a  great  disgrace  ! 

There  is  vice  enough  in  the  world  of  actual  life,  and  it  is  there 
that  wc  look  for  it;  but  there  is  more  in  that  other  world  of 
imagination  that  we  do  not  see — vice  that  poisons,  vice  that 
kills,  vice  that  makes  whited  sepulchres  of  temples  that  are 
deemed  pure,  even  by  multitudes  of  their  tenants.  Let  none 
esteem  themselves  blameless  or  pure  who  willingly  and  gladly 
seek  in  this  world  of  imagination  for  excitements!  That  re- 
markable poem  of  Margaret  Fuller,  which  ascribes  an  indelible 
taint  to  the  maiden  who  only  dreams  of  her  lover  an  unraaidenlv 
dream,  has  a  fearful  but  entirely  legitimate  significance.  It  is  a 
forbidden  realm,  where  pure  feet  never  wander;  and  all  who 
would  remain  pure  must  forever  avoid  it.  It  is  the  haunt  of 
devils  and  damned  spirits.  Its  foul  air  poisons  manhood  and 
shrivels  womanhood,  even  if  it  never  be  left  behind  in  an  ad- 
vance to  the  overt  sin  which  lies  beyond  it. 

The  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the  well  gets  broken  at  last.  I 
presume  that  there  is  not  one  licentious  man  or  ruined  woman 
in  one  hundred  whose  way  to  perdition  did  not  lie  directly 
through  this  forbidden  field  of  imagination.  Into  that  field  they 
went,  and  went  again,  till,  weakened  by  the  poisonous  atmos- 
phere, and  grown  morbid  in  their  love  of  sin,  and  developed  in 
all  their  tendencies  to  sensuality,  and  familiarized  with  the 
thought  of  vice,  they  fell,  with  neither  the  disposition  nor  the 
power  to  rise  again.  It  is  in  this  field  that  Satan  wins  all  his 
victories.  It  is  here  that  he  is  transformed  into  an  ang-el  of 
light.  It  is  on  this  debatable  ground,  half-way  between  vice 
and  virtue,  whither  the  silly  multitude  resort  for  dreams  of  that 
which  they  may  not  enjoy,  that  the  question  of  personal  perdition 

is  settled.     A  pure    soul,  sternly  standing   on   the  ground  of 
22 


322 


MAS    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


virtue,  ov  a  pure  soul  standing  immediately  in  the  presence 
of  viee,  not  once  in  ten  thousand  instances  bends  from  its 
rectitude.  It  is  only  ^vllen  it  ^villingly  becomes  a  vandcrer 
among  the  wiles  of  temptation,  and  an  entertainer  of  the  images 
it  finds  there,  that  it  becomes  subject  to  the  power  that  procures 

its  ruin.^ 

SELF-EXAMINATION.-Xature  designs  that  the  early  years  of 

life  should  be  devoted  chiefly  to  the  development  of  the  body ; 
hence  she  entices  her  new-born  man  to  the  green  bosom  of  the 
earth,  and  the  warm  embraces  of  the  sun,  and  the  full  baptism 
of  the  fresh  and  fragrant  air ;  hence,  too,  .she  fires  him  with  irre- 
sistible longings  to  see,  to  taste,  to  feel,  to  leap  exulting  in  his 
new-made  powers.  Thus  she  nourishes,  and  cherishes,  and  molds 
him  into  man  ;  thus  she  gives  him 


A  spirit  to  lior  rocks  akin, 

The  ove  of  the  hawk,  and  the  fire  therein. 


At  the  same  tlmC  she  fences  up  the  borders  of  the  inner  world. 
Meanwhile,  the  goodly   land  of  thought  is  germinating;    and 
about  the  lime  of  its  first  ripe  grapes,  when  the  outer  world  loses 
some  of  its  charms,  let  the  inner  open  its  gates.     This  opening, 
however,  requires  patience,  perseverance,   retirement.     Percep- 
tions being  more  vivid  than   conceptions,  we  can  not,  without 
effort,  attend  to  the  latter  in  exclusion  of  the  former.     AVhen  we 
turn  the  mind's  eye  inward,  we  must  either  resign  ourselves  to 
the  train  of  suggested  thought  from  which  we  awake  as  from  a 
dream,  or  we  must  fix  our  attention  upon  some  one  of  the  series, 
in  which  case  we  soon  become  weary,  as  one  listening  to  the 
same  frequently  repeated  note.     If  we  attempt  to  analyze  our 
mental  state,  we  become  perplexed;  for,  although  in  the  outer 


ilt)id. 


HABITS. 


323 


world  we  are  familiar  with  the  succession  of  events,  in  the  inner 
we  find  all  at  first  in  confusion.  No  wonder  we  usually  remain* 
in  the  wilderness  of  external  things  till  some  strong  passion,  or 
sense  of  duty,  or  accidental  circumstance,  impels  us  inward. 
Alas!  how  many  pass  through  life  without  scarce  feeling  that 
there  is  a  world  within!^ 

Observe  thyself  as  thy  greatest  enemy  would  do  ;  so  shalt  thou 
be  thy  greatest  friend.^ 

If  thou  seest  anything  in  thyself  which  may  make  thee  proud, 
look  a  little  further,  and  thou  shalt  find  enough  to  humble  thee; 
if  thou  be  wise,  view  the  peacock's  feathers  with  his  feet,  and 
weigh  thy  best  parts  with  thy  imperfections.^ 

We  should  every  night  call  ourselves  to  an  account:  What 
infirmity  have  I  mastered  to-day,  what  passion  opposed,  what 
temptations  resisted,  what  virtue  acquired?  Our  vices  will 
abate  of  themselves  if  they  be  brought  every  day  to  the 
shrift.'^ 

However  good  you  may  be,  you  have  faults ;  however  dull 
you  may  be,  you  can  find  out  what  some  of  them  are ;  and  how- 
ever slight  they  may  be,  you  had  better  make  some— not  too 
painful,  but  patient— effort  to  get  quit  of  them.  And,  so  far  as 
you  have  confidence  in  me  at  all,  trust  me  for  this,  that  how 
many  soever  you  may  find  or  fancy  your  faults  to  be,  there  are 
only  two  that  are  of  real  consequence — Idleness  and  Cruelty. 
Perhaps  you  may  be  proud :  w^ell,  we  can  get  much  good  out 
of  pride,  if  only  it  be  not  religious.  Perhaps  you  may  be  vain  : 
it  is  highly  probable,  and  very  pleasant  for  the  people  who  like  to 
praise  you.  Perhaps  you  are  a  little  envious:  that  is  reallv  verv 
shocking ;  but  then— so  is  everybody  else.  Perhaps,  also,  you 
are  a  little  malicious,  w^iich  I  am  truly  concerned  to  hear,  but 
should  ])robably  only  the  more,  if  I  knew  you,  enjoy  your  con- 


Bishop  Thomson. 


*  Jeremy  Taylor. 


3  Quarles. 


<  Seneca. 


324 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Ill 


versation.     But  whatever  else  you  may  be,  you  must  not  be  use- 
less, an  J  you  must  not  be  cruel.     .     .     .     Remember  that  every 
tlay  of  your  early  life  is  ordaining  irrevocably,  for  good  or  evil, 
the  custom  and  practice  of  your  soul-ordaining  either  sacred 
,   customs  of  dear  and  lovely  recurrence,  or  trenching  deeper  and 
'    deeper  the  furrows  for  seed  of  sorrow.     Now,  therefore,  see  that 
no  day  passes  in  which  you  do  not  make  yourself  a  somewhat 
better  creature ;  and,  in  order  to  do  that,  find  out,  first,  what  you 
are  now.     Do  not  think  vaguely  about  it ;  take  pen  and  paper, 
and  write  down  as  accurate  a  description  of  yourself  as  you  can, 
with  the  date  to  it.     If  you  dare  not  do  so,  find  out  why  you 
dare  not,  and  try  to  get  strength  of  heart  enough  to  look  your- 
self fairly  in  the  face,  in  mind  as  well  as  body.     I  do  not  doubt 
but  that  the  mind  is  a  less  pleasant  thing  to  look  at  than  the 
face,  and  for  that  very  reason   it  needs  more   looking  at;    so 
alwlvs  have  two  mirrors  on  your  toilet-table,  and  see  that,  with 
proper  care,  you  dress  body  and  mind  before  them  daily.     After 
the  dressing  is  once  over  for  the  day,  think  no  more  about  it ; 
as  your  hair  will  blow  about  your  ears,  so  your  temper  and 
thou'-hts  will  get  ruffled  with  the  day's  work,  and  may  need, 
somedmes,  twice  dressing;  but  I  don't  want  you  to  carry  about 
a  mental  pocket-comb-only  to  be  smooth-braided  always  in  the 
morning.     Write  down,  then,  frankly,  what  you  are,  or,  at  least, 
what  vou  think   yourself,  not   dwelling   upon   those  inevitable 
faults  which  I  have  just  told  you  are  of  little  consequence,  and 
which  the  action  of  a  right  life  will  shake  or  smooth  away ;  but 
that  vou  mav  determine  to  the  best  of  your  intelligence  what  you 
are  good  for^  and  can  be  made  into.     You  will  find  that  the  mere 
resoU-e  not  to  be  useless,  and  the  honest  desire  to  help  other 
people,  will,  in  the  quickest  and  delicatest  ways,  improve  your- 
self.' 

1  Buskin— "Advice  to  a  Young  GlrL" 


HABITS. 


325 


' 


This  is  called  self-examination.     It  is  one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant duties  in  the  life  of  a  moral,  and  specially  of  a  probationary 


being : 


'Tis  greatly  wise  to  talk  with  our  past  hoars, 
And  ask  them  what  report  they  bore  to  heaven, 
And  how  they  might  have  borne  more  welcome  news. 

Perform  this  duty  deliberately.  It  is  not  the  business  of  hurry 
or  of  negligence.  Devote  time  exclusively  to  it.  Go  alone. 
Ttctire  within  yourself,  and  weigh  your  actions  coolly  and  care- 
fully, forgetting  all  other  things  in  the  conviction  that  you  are  a 
moral  and  an  accountable  being.  Do  it  impartially.  Remember 
that  you  are  liable  to  be  misled  by  the  seductions  of  passion  and 
the  allurements  of  self-interest.  Put  yourself  in  the  jdace  of 
those  around  you,  and  put  others  in  your  ow^n  place,  and  remark 
how  you  would  then  consider  your  actions.  Pay  great  attention 
to  the  opinions  of  your  enemies ;  there  is  generally  foundation, 
or  at  least  the  appearance  of  it,  in  what  they  say  of  you.  But, 
above  all,  take  the  true  and  perfect  standard  of  moral  charactt^r 
exhibited  in  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel,  and  exemplified  in  the 
life  of  Jesus  Christ :  and  thus  examine  your  conduct  bv  the  liirht 
that  emanates  from  the  holiness  of  heaven.  Suppose  you  have 
examined  yourself,  and  arrived  at  a  decision  respecting  the  moral 
character  of  vour  actions. 

If  you  are  conscious  of  having  done  right,  be  thankful  to  that 
God  who  has  mercifully  enabled  you  to  do  so.  Observe  the 
peace  and  serenity  which  fills  your  bosom,  and  remark  how 
greatly  it  overbalances  the  self-denials  which  it  has  cost.  Be 
humbly  thankful  that  you  have  made  some  progress  in  virtue. 
If  your  actions  have  been  of  a  mixed  character — that  is,  if  they 
have  proceeded  from  motives  partly  good  and  partly  bad — labor 


326 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


HABITS. 


327 


I 


to  obtain  a  clear  view  of  each,  and  of  the  circumstances  which 
led  you  to  confound  them.  Avoid  the  sources  of  this  confusion, 
and,  when  you  perform  the  same  actions  again,  be  specially  on 
your  guard  against  the  influence  of  any  motive  of  which  you  now 

disapprove. 

If  conscience  convicts  you  of  having  acted  wrongly,   reflect 
upon  the  wrong  ;  survey  the  obligations  which  you  have  violated, 
until  vou  are  sensible  of  your  guilt.     Be  willing  to  suffer  the 
pains  of  conscience;  they  are  the  rebukes  of  a  friend,  and  are 
designed   to   withhold  you   from   the   commission   of  wrong  in 
the  future.     Neither  turn  a  neglectful  ear  to  its  monitions,  nor 
drown  its  voice   amid  the  bustle  of  business  or  the  gayety  of 
pleasure.     Do  not  let  the  subject  pass  away  from  your  thoughts 
until  you  have  come  to  a  settled  resolution— a  reaoluthn  founded 
on  moral  disapprobation  of  the  action— never  to  do  so  any  more. 
If  restitution  be  in  your  power,  make  it  without  hesitation,  and 
do  it  immediately.     The  least  that  a  man  ought  to  be  satisfied 
with  who  has  done  wrong   is  to  repair  the  wrong  as  soon  as  it  is 
possible.     As  every  act  of  wrong  is  a  sin  against  God,  seek  in 
humble  penitence  his  pardon  through  the  merits  and  intercession 
of  His  Son,  Jesus  Christ.     Remark  the  actions,  or  the  course  of 
thinkin<^  which  were  the  occasions  of  leading  you  to  do  wrong. 
Be  specially  careful  to  avoid  them  in  future.     To  this  effect  says 
President  Edwards  :    "  Resolved,  that  when  I  do  any  conspicu- 
ously evil  action,  to  trace  it  back  till  I  come  to   the  original 
cause,  and  then  both  carefully  endeavor  to  do  so  no  more,  and  to 
fight  and  pray  with  all  my  might  against  the  original  of  it."^ 

Moral  Relations  of  Habit.— This  law  of  habit,  when 
enlisted  on  the  side  of  righteousness,  not  only  strengthens  and 
makes  sure  our  resistance  to  vice,  but  facilitates  the  most  arduous 
performances  of  virtue.     The  man  whose  thoughts,  with  the  pur- 

1  Francis  Way  land. 


poses  and  doings  to  which  they  lead,  are  at  the  bidding  of  con- 
science, will,  by  frequent  repetition,  at  length  describe  the  same 
track  almost  spontaneously;  even  as  in  physical  education, 
things,  laboriously  learned  at  the  first,  come  to  be  done  at  last 
without  the  feeling  of  an  effort.  And  so,  in  moral  education, 
every  new  achievement  of  principle  smooths  the  way  to  future 
achievements  of  the  same  kind,  and  the  precious  fruit  or  purchase 
of  each  moral  victory  is  to  set  us  on  hio^her  and  firmer  vantage- 
ground  for  the  conquests  of  principle  in  all  time  coming.  He 
who  resolutely  bids  away  the  suggestions  of  avarice,  when  they 
come  into  conflict  with  the  incumbent  i>:encrositv :  or  the  su^^-ires- 
tions  of  voluptuousness,  when  they  come  into  conflict  with  the 
incumbent  self-denial  ;  or  the  suggestions  of  anger,  when  thev 
come  into  conflict  with  the  incumbent  act  of  magnanimity  and 
forbearance,  will  at  length  obtain,  not  a  respite  only,  but  a  final 
deliverance  from  their  intrusion.  Conscience,  the  longer  it  has 
made  way  over  the  obstacles  of  selfishness  and  passion,  the  less 
will  it  give  way  to  these  adverse  forces,  themselves  weakened  by 
the  repeated  defeats  which  they  have  sustained  in  the  warfare  of 
moral  discipline ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  oftener  that  conscience 
makes  good  the  supremacy  which  she  claims,  the  greater  would 
be  the  work  of  violence,  and  less  the  strength  for  its  accomplish- 
ments, to  cast  her  down  from  that  station  of  practical  guidance 
and  command  which  of  rijj^ht  belon^^s  to  her.' 

It  is  found  to  be  the  fact  that  the  repetition  of  any  physical 
act  at  stated  periods,  and  especially  after  brief  intervals,  renders 
the  performance  of  the  act  easier;  it  is  accomplished  in  less 
time,  with  less  eflbrt,  with  less  expense  of  nervous  power  and 
of  mental  energy.  This  is  exemplified  every  day  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  the  mechanical  arts,  and  in  learning  the  rudiments  of 
music.     And  whoever  will  remark  may  easily  be  convinced  that 


1  Chalmers. 


'1 


328 


MAN   AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


HABITS. 


329 


a  great  part  of  our  education,  physical  and  intellectual,  in  so  far 
as  it  is  valuable,  consists  in  the  formation  of  habits. 

The  same  remarks  apply,  to  a  very  considerable  extent,  to 
moral  habits. 

The  repetition  of  a  virtuous  act  produces  a  tendency  to  con- 
tinued repetition  ;  the  force  of  opposing  motives  is  lessened  ;  the 
power  of  the  will  over  passion  is  more  decided,  and  the  act  is 
accomplished  with  less  moral  eifort.  Perhaps  we  should  express 
the  fact  truly  by  saying  that,  by  the  repetition  of  virtuous  acts, 
moral  power  is  gained,  while  for  the  performance  of  the  same 
acts  less  moral  power  is  required. 

On  the  contrary,  by  the  repetition  of  vicious  acts,  a  tendency  is 
created  tow^ard  such  repetition ;  the  power  of  the  passions  is  in- 
creased ;  the  power  of  opposing  forces  is  diminished,  and  the 
resistance  to  passion  requires  a  greater  moral  effort,  or,  as  in  the 
contrary  of  the  preceding  case,  a  greater  moral  effort  is  required 
to  resist  our  passions,  while  the  moral  power  to  resist  them  is 
diminished. 

Now,  the  obvious  nature  of  such  a  tendency  is  to  arrive  at  a 
fixed  and  unalterable  moral  state.  Be  the  fact  accounted  for  as 
it  may,  I  think  that  habit  has  such  an  effect  upon  the  will  as  to 
establish  a  tendency  toward  the  impossibility  to  resist  it.  Thus  the 
practice  of  virtue  seems  to  tend  toward  rendering  a  man  incapable 
of  vice,  and  the  practice  of  vice  toward  rendering  a  man  incapa- 
ble of  virtue.  It  is  common  to  speak  of  a  man  as  incapable  of 
meanness,  and  I  think  we  see  men  as  often,  in  the  same  sense, 
incapable  of  virtue  ;  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  we  always  speak  of 
the  one  incapacity  as  an  object  of  praise,  and  of  the  other  as  an 
object  of  blame. 

If  we  inquire  what  are  the  moral  effects  of  such  a  condition 
of  our  being,  I  think  we  shall  find  them  to  be  as  follows: 


1.  Habit  can  not  alter  the  nature  of  an  action,  as  ri<rht  or 
wrong.  It  can  alter  neither  our  relations  to  our  fellow-creatures 
nor  to  God,  nor  the  obligations  consequent  upon  those  relations. 
Hence  the  character  of  the  action  must  remain  unaffected. 

2.  Nor  can  it  alter  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  actor.  As  he 
who  acts  virtuously  is  entitled  to  the  benefit  of  virtuous  action, 
among  which  the  tendency  to  virtuous  action  is  included,  so  he 
who  acts  viciously  is  responsible  for  all  the  consequences  of 
vicious  action,  the  correspondent  tendency  to  vicious  action  also 
included.  The  conditions  being  equal,  and  he  being  left  to  his 
own  free  choice,  the  consequences  of  either  course  rest  justly 
upon  himself. 

The  final  causes  of  such  a  constitution  are  also  apparent. 

1.  It  is  manifestly  and  precisely  adapted  to  our  present  state, 
when  considered  as  probationary  and  capable  of  moral  changes, 
and  terminating  in  one  where  moral  change  is  impossible.  The 
constitution  under  w^hich  we  are  placed  presents  us  with  the 
apparent  paradox  of  a  state  of  incessant  moral  change,  in  which 
every  individual  change  has  a  tendency  to  produce  a  state  that  is 
unchangeable. 

2.  The  fact  of  such  a  constitution  is  manifestly  intended  to 
present  the  strongest  possible  incentives  to  virtue,  and  monitions 
against  vice.  It  teaches  us  that  consequences  are  attached  to 
every  act  of  both,  not  only  present,  but  future,  and,  so  far  as  we 
can  see,  interminable.  As  every  one  can  easily  estimate  the 
pleasures  of  vice  and  the  pains  of  virtue,  both  in  extent  and 
duration,  but  as  no  one,  taking  Into  consideration  the  results  of 
the  tendency  which  each  will  produce,  can  estimate  the  inter- 
minable consequences  which  must  arise  from  either,  there  is, 
therefore,  hence  derived  the  strongest  possible  reason  why  we 
should  always  do  right,  and  never  do  wrong. 


330 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


pi 

m 

u 

lb 


3.  And  again.  It  is  evident  that  our  capacity  for  increase  in 
virtue  depends  greatly  upon  the  present  constitution  in  respect 
to  habit.  I  liave  remarked  that  the  effect  of  the  repetition  of 
virtuous  action  was  to  give  us  greater  moral  power,  while  the 
given  action  itself  required  less  moral  effort.  There  hence 
arises — if  I  may  so  say — a  surplus  of  moral  power,  which  may 
be  applied  to  the  accomplishment  of  greater  moral  achievements. 
He  who  has  overcome  one  evil  temper  has  acquired  moral  power 
to  overcome  another,  and  that  which  was  first  subdued  is  kept 
in  subjection  without  a  struggle.  He  who  has  formed  one  habit 
of  virtue  practices  it  without  effort,  as  a  matter  of  course,  or  of 
original  impulse ;  and  the  power  thus  acquired  may  be  applied 
to  the  attainment  of  other  and  more  difficult  habits,  and  the 
accomplishment  of  higher  and  more  arduous  moral  enterprises. 
He  who  desires  to  see  the  influence  of  habit  illustrated  with 
great  beauty  and  accuracy  will  be  gratified  by  the  perusal  of 
"  The  Hermit  of  Tenerille,"  one  of  the  most  delightful  allegories 
to  be  found  in  the  English  language.  [See  Johnson's  Works, 
Vol.  XI,  p.  333.]^ 

1  Way  laud. 


I' : 


i» 


^• 


I'!'; 


.f! .   f  ,    IH  O  L  L  A  H  O 


^ 


CHAPTER    YIT. 


h  A 


CULTURE. 

It  is  very  rare  to  find  ground  which  produces  nothing ;    if  it  is  not  covered  with 
flowers,  with  fruit-trees  and  grains,  it  produces  briers  and  pines.  — BBUvfeRE. 

THE  state  of  society  is  one  in  which  the  members  have  suf- 
fered amputation  from  the  trunk,  and  strut  about  so  many 
walking  monsters— a  good  finger,  a  neck,  a  stomach,  an  elbow, 

but  never  a  man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into  many  things. 
The  planter,  who  is  Man  sent  out  into  the  field  to  gather  food, 
is  seldom  cheered  by  any  idea  of  the  true  dignity  of  his  ministry. 
He  sees  his  bushel  and  his  cart,  and  nothing  beyond,  and  sinks 
into  the  farmer,  instead  of  Man  on  the  farm.  The  tradesman 
scarcely  ever  gives  an  ideal  worth  to  his  work,  but  is  ridden  by 
the  routine  of  his  craft,  and  the  soul  is  subject  to  dollars.  The 
priest  becomes  a  form;  the  attorney,  a  statute  book ;  the  mechanic, 
a  machine;  the  sailor,  a  rope  of  a  ship. 

In  this  distribution  of  functions,  the  scholar  is  the  delegated 
intellect.  In  the  right  state,  he  is  Man  Thinking.  In  the  de- 
generate state,  when  the  victim  of  society,  he  tends  to  become  a 
mere  thinker,  or,  still  worse,  the  parrot  of  other  men^s  thinking. 

In  this  view  of  him,  as  Man  Thinking,  the  theory  of  his  office 

is  contained.     Him  Nature  solicits  with  all  lier  placid,  all  her 

monitory  pictures;  him  the  past  instructs;  him  the  future  invites. 

(331) 


332 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Is  not,  indeed,  every  man  a  student,  and  do  not  all  things  exist 
for  the  student's  behoof?  And,  finally,  is  not  the  true  scholar 
the  only  true  master?^ 

A  scholar  is  the  favorite  of  Heaven  and  earth,  the  excellency 
of  his  country,  the  happiest  of  men.  His  duties  lead  him 
directly  into  the  holy  ground  where  other  men's  aspirations 
only  point.  His  successes  are  occasions  of  the  purest  joy  to  all 
men.  Eyes  is  he  to  the  blind,  feet  is  he  to  the  lame.  His 
failures,  if  he  is  worthy,  are  inlets  to  higher  advantages.  And 
because  the  scholar,  by  every  thought  he  thinks,  extends  his 
dominion  into  the  general  mind  of  men,  he  is  not  one,  but 
many.  The  few  scholars  in  each  country,  whose  genius  I 
know,  seem  to  me  not  individuals,  but  societies;  and  Avhen 
events  occur  of  great  import,  I  count  over  these  representatives 
of  opinion,  whom  they  will  affect,  as  if  I  were  counting  nations. 
And  even  if  his  results  were  incommunicable,  if  they  abode  in 
his  own  spirit,  the  intellect  hath  somewhat  so  sacred  in  its 
possessions,  that  the  fact  of  his  existence  and  pursuits  would  be 
a  happy  omen. 

Meantime,  I  know  that  a  very  different  estimate  of  the 
scholar's  profession  prevails  in  this  country,  and  the  impor- 
tunity with  which  society  presses  its  claim  upon  young  men 
tends  to  pervert  the  views  of  the  youth  in  respect  to  the  culture 
of  the  intellect.  Hence  the  historical  failure,  on  which  Europe 
and  America  have  so  freely  commented.  This  country  has  not 
fulfilled  what  seemed  the  reasonable  expectation  of  mankind. 
Men  looked,  when  all  feudal  straps  and  bandages  were  snapped 
asunder,  that  nature,  too  long  the  mother  of  dwarfs,  should  re- 
imburse itself  by  a  brood  of  Titans,  who  should  laugh  and  leap 
in  the  continent,  and  run  up  the  mountains  of  the  West  with  the 
errand  of  genius  and  of  love.     But  the  mark  of  American  merit 


1  Emerson. 


CULTURE. 


333 


in  painting,  in  sculpture,  in  poetry,  in  fiction,  in  eloquence, 
seems  to  be  a  certain  grace  without  grandeur,  and  itself  not  new 
but  derivative  ;  a  vase  of  fair  outline,  but  empty— which  whoso 
sees  niav  fill  with  what  wit  and  character  is  in  him,  but  which 
does  not,  like  the  charged  cloud,  overflow  with  terrible  beauty, 
and  emit  lightnings  on  all  beholders. 

I  will  not  lose  myself  in  the  desultory  questions,  what  are  the 
limitations,  and  what  the  causes  of  the  fact.  It  suffices  me  to 
say,  in  general,  that  the  diffidence  of  mankind  in  the  soul  has 
crept  over  the  American  mind;  that  men  here,  as  elsewhere,  are 
indisposed  to  innovation,  and  prefer  any  antiquity,  any  usage, 
any  livery   productive   of  ease    or   profit,  to  the  unproductive 

service  of  thought. 

Yet,  in  every  sane  hour,  the  service  of  thought  appears 
reasonable,  the  despotism  of  the  senses  insane.  The  scholar 
may  lose  himself  in  schools,  in  words,  and  become  a  pedant;  but 
when  he  comprehends  his  duties,  he  above  all  men  is  a  realist, 
and  converses  with  things.  For  the  scholar  is  the  student  of 
the  world;  and  of  what  worth  the  world  is,  and  with  what 
emphasis  it  accosts  the  soul  of  man,  such  is  the  worth,  such  the 

call  of  the  scholar.^ 

True  Idea  of  Education.— You  call  the  three  Royal  R'« 
education?  They  are  not  education  ;  no  more  is  the  knowledge 
which  wouk!  enable  you  to  take  the  highest  prizes  given  by  the 
Society  of  Arts,  or  any  other  body.  They  arc  not  education  ; 
they  are  only  instruction;  a  necessary  groundwork,  in  an  age 
like  this,  for  making  practical  use  of  your  education  ;  but  not 

the  education  itself.^ 

In  the  larger,  truer  sense.  Education  implies  the  develop- 
ment, drawing  out,  of  the  whole  nature,  moral,  physical,  intellec- 
tual, social.    The  acquisition  of  the  mechanical  facility  of  reading. 


1  Ibid. 


2  Kingsley. 


334 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTrRE. 


335 


writing,  computing,  etc.,  tlie  sharpening  of  the  youthful  intellect 
on  the  rough  grindstone  of  Letters,  is  no  more  Education  than 
is  learning  to  mow  or  to  swim.     The  direct  inculcations  of  the 
class  can   but  supply  the  pupil  with   a  few  rude  implements  of 
Education — the    ax    wherewith    he    may    clear,    and    the     plow 
wherewith  he  may  break  up,  the  rugged  patrimony  which  has 
fallen  to  him  in  its  state  of  primal  wilderness.     These  arc  most 
valuable— nay,  indispensable— but  they  must  be  taken   for  what 
they  are,  and  for  nothing  more.     The  youth  who  fancies  liimself 
educated  because  he  has  fullv  mastered  ever  so  many  branches 
of  mere  school  learning,  is  laboring  under  a  deplorable  and  per- 
ilous delusion.     .     .     .     Being  educated  as  a  Man,  he  should 
be  able  promptly  to  qualify  himself  for,  and  adapt  himself  to, 
whatever  a  man  may  properly  be  required  to  do.     Herein  is  laid 
the  only  solid  foundation  for  a  life  of  manly  independence,  and 
a  readiness  to  brave   all  the   possible  consequences  of  a  frank 
truthfulness,  and  a  generous,  fearless  devotion  to  the  highest  and 
enduring  good;     .     .     .     the  central  truth  that  all  instruction 
in  letters  is  but  means  to  an  end — an  end  immensely  transcend- 

ing  in  importance  all  scholastic  eminence  in  itself  considered 

can  not  l)e  too  profoundly  realized  by  the  teacher,  nor  too  sedu- 
lously impressed  on  the  learner.  He  whose  admiring  contem- 
plation rests  on  the  prizes  of  successful  scholarship-  who  thinks 
more  of  the  honors  awarded  to  the  most  proficient  in  any  branch 
of  study  than  of  the  remoter  uses  of  his  proficiency — is  readily 
perceiyed  to  be  laboring  under  a  baneful  delusion  ;  but  not  less 
so  is  he  who  prizes  Intellectual  Culture  unless  accompanied  by 
Moral,  and  except  as  conducive  to  ends  of  practical  utility. 
Thai  teaching  has  been  most  effective,  however  simple  in  manner 
or  deficient  in  quantity,  which  has  qualified,  enabled  the  pupil  to 
find  a  salutary  lesson  in  every  passing  event,  a  healthful  compan- 


i 


ionship  in  his  own  thoughts,  a  meaning  and  a  wondrous  "beauty 
in  every  changing  phase  of  Nature.  He  who  knows  how  to  do, 
when  to  do,  and  stands  ready  with  a  hearty  will  to  do,  whatever 
it  is,  or  fairly  may  be,  incumbent  on  him  to  do,  perilous  though 
it  be,  and,  apart  from  the  sense  of  duty,  repulsive,  is  truly  edu- 
cated, though  he  knows  nothing  of  logarithms  or  Latin;  while 
the  oraduate  with  highest  honors  at  Oxford  or  Gottingen  may  be 
as  essentially  ignorant  as  many  a  Typcc  or  Hottentot.^ 

Let  us  have  knowledge  by  all  means— the  more  the  better- 
but  let  us  rectify  the  radical  mistake  that  knowledge  is  power  in 
itself.     Let  us  stop  giving  prizes  for  cramming,  and  save  them 
for  those  who  can  do  something.     Let  us  banish  the  idea  that 
scholarship  is  education,  that  acquisition   is  development,  and 
that  knowledge  is  anything  more  than  the  furniture  of  the  mind. 
Our  ship  is  complete  in  all  its  parts  when  she  strikes  the  water, 
and  knowledge   is  what  we  take   in.      AVe   want   coal    in    the 
bunkers,  and  provisions  in  the  larder,  and  water  in  the  tanks, 
and  chart  and  compass  and  quadrant— furniture  for  the  cabin 
and  furniture  for  the  steerage ;  and  all  these  knowledge  gives  us. 
But  knowledge  is  neither  hull  nor  spar,  neither  engine  nor  pad- 
dle-wheels, neither  rudder  nor  capstan,  neither  captain  nor  crew. 
So  flu-  as  knowledge  can  be  used  for  propulsion  and  direction,  it 
becomes  power,  but  it  is  stowed  in  many  a  hull  that  waits  to  be 
manned,  or  hopelessly  rusts  and  rots  in  the  harbor.^ 

AVe  all  believe  in  education  ;  but  what  is  it  that  we  call  edu- 
cation? A  few  years  at  school ;  a  little  reading,  writing,  arith- 
metic; a  few  studies  superficially  pursued— this  is  commonly 
understood  to  be  education.  But  education,  in  the  true  sense,  is 
not  mere  instruction  in  Latin,  English,  French,  or  history.  It 
is  the  unfolding  of  the  whole  human  nature.  It  is  growing  up 
in  all  things  to  our  highest  possibility.     This  is  a  life-work  ;  a 


1  Greeley. 


2  Holland. 


336 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


337 


work  in  which  our  teachers  are  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  day 
and  night,  work  and  rest,  nature  and  society,  heavenly  inspira- 
tions and  human  sympathies,  success  and  failure,  sickness,  pain, 
bereavement  —  all  of  this  great  human  life.  And  with  this 
teaching  there  must  be  the  earnest  desire  and  purpose  in  our 
own  soul  to  grow,  to  become  larger,  deeper,  higher,  nobler,  year 
bv  vcar. 

*        ft 

For  these  reasons,  we  say  that  all  should  aim  at  self-culture. 
'"  Very  early,''  said  Margaret  Fuller,  '^  I  perceived  that  the  object 
of  life  is  to  grow."  She  herself  was  a  remarkable  instance  of 
the  power  of  the  human  being  to  go  forward  and  upward.  Of 
her  it  might  be  said,  as  Goethe  said  of  Schiller  :  "  If  I  did  not 
see  him  for  a  fortnight,  I  was  astonished  to  find  what  progress 
he  had  made  in  that  interim."  Every  year  she  lived  added 
depth  to  her  thought,  largeness  to  her  comprehension,  devotion 
to  her  soul.  Being  at  first  somewhat  egotistic,  disdainful,  proud, 
she  became,  at  last,  modest,  sympathetic,  and  kind  to  the  lowest 
and  humblest.  This  generous  nature  took  its  own  way  to  per- 
fection. Whether  teaching  young  girls  in  Xew  England,  or 
nursing  wounded  Italian  soldiers  in  Rome;  whether  studying 
with  untiring  energy  the  literatures  of  Europe,  or  scraping  lint 
for  the  patriots  who  fallowed  Mazzini — she  was  always  going 
forward  and  onward  to  the  end  of  her  days.^ 

Scholars  very  often  jisk,  when  pursuing  some  difficult  study, 
"What  good  will  it  do  me  to  know  this?"  But  that  is  not  the 
question.  They  ought  to  ask,  "  What  good  will  it  do  me  to 
learn  it?  What  effect  upcm  my  habits  of  thinking,  and  upon 
my  intellectual  powers,  will  be  produced  by  the  efforts  necessary 
to  examine  and  to  conquer  these  difficulties?"  .  .  .  You 
ought,  if  you  wish  to  secure  the  greatest  advantage,  to  have 
some   difficult    work,  that   you   may  acquire  habits    of  patient 


1  Clarke. 


research,   and   Increase  and  strengthen    your  intellectual   pow- 

ti  St       •       •       • 

I  have  often  known  persons  in  whom  the  first  of  these  objects 
[power,  knowledge,  skill]  alone  was  secured.  You  will  recog- 
nize one  who  is  in  danger  of  such  a  result  in  his  education,  by 
his  taking  a  strong  interest,  if  he  is  in  college,  for  example,  in 
those  pursuits  in  his  class  which  require  more  of  great  but 
temporary  mental  effort,  and  by  his  neglecting  the  equally 
important  parts  of  his  course  which  would  store  his  mind  with 
facts.  He  attracts  the  admiration  of  his  class  by  his  fluent 
familiarity  with  all  the  mazes  of  the  most  intricate  theorem  or 
problem  ;  and  he  excites  an  equal  surprise  by  his  apjiarent  dull- 
ness at  the  recitation  in  history,  making,  as  he  does,  the  most 
ludicrous  blunders,  and  showing  the  most  lamentable  ignorance 
of  everything  which  is  beyond  the  pale  of  demonstration.  W^hen 
at  last  he  comes  out  into  the  world,  his  mind  is  acute  and  power- 
ful, but  he  is  an  entire  stranger  to  the  scene  in  which  he  is  to 
move;  he  can  do  no  good,  because  he  does  not  know  where  his 
effi)rts  are  to  be  applied ;  he  makes  the  same  blunders  in  real 
life  that  he  did  in  college  in  its  history,  and  is  soon  neglected 
and  forgotten.  He  had  cultivated  simple  poicer,  but  was  with- 
out information  or  skilL  His  power  was,  consequently,  almost 
useless. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  young  man  may  spend  his  whole  strength 

in    simply   obtaining   knowledge — neglecting   the    cultivation    of 

mental    power,    or   the   acquisition    of  skill.     He   neglects   his 

severer    studies,    and   his    various    opportunities    for    practice. 

"  Spherics  !"  says  he,  "  and  trigonometrical  formula !    What  good 

will  they  ever  do  me  ?     I  am  not  going  to  be  an  almanac-maker, 

or  to  gain  my  livelihood  by  calculating  eclipses."     So  he  reads 

history  and  voyages  and  travels,  and  devours  every  species  of 
23 


f 


IH 


4! 


338 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


339 


periodical  literature  ^vhich  finds  its  way  within  college  walls. 
He  very  probably  neglects  those  duties  which,  if  faithfully 
performed,  would  cultivate  the  powers  of  conversation  and  writ- 
ing and  public  speaking;  and  he  comes  out  into  the  world 
equally  celebrated  among  all  who  knew  him,  on  the  one  hand, 
for  the  variety  and  extent  of  his  general  knowledge,  and  on  the 
other,  for  the  slenderness  of  his  original  mental  power,  and  his 
utter  want  of  any  skill  in  bringing  his  multifarious  acquisitions 
to  bear  upon  the  objects  of  life.^ 

Man  is  not  merely  an  animal,  endowed  with  limbs,  senses, 
and  instincts :  he  is  also  a  spirit,  gifted  with  understanding, 
imagination,  faith,  affectiim,  and  conscience.  Thus  he  is  called 
on  not  merely  to  free  his  fleshly  frame  from  every  twist,  cramp, 
or  stiffness,  and  render  it  the  supple  and  melodious  instrument 
of  the  vital  forces;  but  likewise  he  must  free  the  mental  and 
moral  sides  of  his  being  from  every  prejudice,  bias,  corrupt 
inclination,  insensibility,  or  bondage,  so  that  all  his  psycholog- 
ical faculties,  liberated  and  illuminated,  may  act  in  the  most 
perfect  harmony  with  those  laws  of  truth,  beauty,  and  goodness 
which  are  the  perpetual  revelation  of  God  in  His  works  and 
creatures. 

This  task  is  one  of  immense  scope  and  significance — to  weed 
out  all  sluggishness,  self-will,  insurgent  pride,  deathly  sloth,  be- 
fogging delusions,  sinful  ambition,  fires  of  lust,  and  phlegms  of 
stupidity,  that  the  soul  may  be  a  pure,  open  medium  for  divine 
reality.  But  if  the  cleansing  of  the  spirit  from  the  evils  that 
clog  or  chain  it  is  a  harder  task  even  than  to  perfect  the  bodily 
condition,  the  reward  is  richer.  The  scholar,  whose  memory, 
stored  with  great  ranges  of  learning,  has  ready  command  of  its 
treasures;  the  philosopher,  who  can  think  consecutively  and 
deeply,  gra^'ping  universal  truths,  and  marshaling  comprehensive 


i- 
'ft 

fr 


systems  of  ideas  for  inspection  on  the  echoless  plain  of  his  mind; 
the  poet,  whose  genius  bears  him  at  will,  amidst  visions  of  en- 
trancing splendor,  through  the  empire  of  fair  possibilities ;  the 
philanthropist,  whose  sympathy,  extending  to  the  circumference 
of  his  race,  broods  lovingly  over  the  fortunes  of  the  whole — are 
as  much  above  the  brawny  gladiator  or  hunter  as  the  skyey 
Apollo,  who  seems  made  to  tread  the  amber  and  crystal  heights 
of  immortality,  is  superior  to  the  stooping  Discobolos,  who 
gravitates  sheerly  to  the  ground. 

It  is  of  especial  importance,  in  this  aim  at  getting  the  full 
possession  and  use  of  the  soul,  to  avoid  that  very  common  error 
wdiich  confounds  the  material  conditions  of  good  with  the  essence 
of  good.  Crowds  of  men,  for  example,  are  so  eagerly  devoted 
to  the  accumulation  of  the  means  of  life,  in  quantities  beyond 
their  need,  that  they  overlook  everything  else,  and  fail  to  apply 
the  means  for  the  fruition  of  their  proper  ends.  Nothing  is 
more  frequent  than  an  insane  bondage  to  the  work  of  getting 
money,  regardless  of  the  generous  and  holy  uses  which  alone 
can  give  money  any  true  value  or  charm.  The  avaricious  slave 
who  toils  and  moils  to  heap  uj)  wealth,  without  any  joyous  use 
of  it,  is  a  miserable  drudge,  no  matter  how  big  his  heap  of 
dollars  is. 

Multitudes  also  estimate  conspicuous  social  rank,  political  sta- 
tion, or  literary  fame,  above  unrecognized  genius,  ability,  worth, 
and  service.  And  yet  how  clear  it  is  to  unsophisticated  thought 
that  the  intrinsic  should,  in  the  sight  of  men,  as  it  must  in  the 
sight  of  God,  take  precedence  of  the  extrinsic  !  AVhen  the  in- 
competent or  the  unfaithful  enter  illustrious  place,  they  make  it 
a  pillory.  The  luster  of  the  throne  is  quenched  when  the  crime 
and  vice  of  its  occupant  shed  over  it  the  infamy  of  the  gibbet. 
It  is  not  high  and  envied  place  that  is  desirable,  but  the  mag- 


m 


1  Jacob  Abbott. 


t  'I 


840 


ItXS  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


naniraou3  services  and  benefits  which  ought  to  signalize  such  a 
place.  No  soul  of  real  purity  and  elevation  hut  would  immeas- 
urably prefer  to  bestow  a  great  blessing  on  mankind,  and  receive 
no  acknowledgment  for  it,  than  to  be  crowned  with  all  the  lux- 
uries and  honors  of  the  earth  while  leading  a  life  of  corrupt 
selfishness,  inoculating  the  public'  weal  with  wrong  and  misery. 
Health,  strength,  harmony,  wisdom,  love,  romantic  hopes,  inno- 
cent ambitions,  deathless  faith,  progressive  insight,  and  generous 
services  to  others — intrinsic  goods,  independent  of  outer  esti- 
mates or  favor — are  to  be  coveted  as  beyond  all  comparison  with 
the  delusive  or  futile  prices  of  fortune  and  society.  To  invert 
this  order  is  to  subordinate  the  greater  to  the  lesser,  and  sacrifice 
ends  to  means.  ...  A  learned  man  has  knowledge  gathered; 
but  a  wise  man  has  knowledge  assimilated.  The  one  is  a  tank; 
the  other  is  a  spring.  There  was  deep  sense,  as  w^ell  as  keen  wit, 
in  the  sarcastic  epitaph  on  Hardouin,  the  crammed  and  eccentric 
Jesuit  scholar :  "  Here  lies  a  man  of  blessed  memory  awaiting 
judgment/'  The  interiors  of  many  a  mind  are  lumbered  and 
littered  with  worthless  stuif,  the  mere  trumpery  of  learning,  an 
empty  parade  of  pedantry.  To  seek  truth  for  the  sake  of  its 
service  in  uses,  beauty  for  the  joy  of  its  charms,  and  goodness 
for  the  love  of  its  divinity,  are  the  genuine  ends  of  all  inward 
culture.^ 

The  greatest  object  of  mental  powers  is  as  needful  for  one  sex 
as  the  other,  and  requires  the  same  means  in  both  sexes.  The 
same  accuracy,  attention,  logic,  and  method  that  are  attempted  in 
the  education  of  men  should  be  aimed  at  in  that  of  women.  .  .  . 
It  may  appear  pedantic,  but  I  must  confess  that  Euclid  seems  to 
me  a  book  for  the  young  of  both  sexes.  The  severe  rules  upon 
■  which  the  acquisition  of  the  dead  languages  is  built  would,  of 
course,  be   a   great   means   for   attaining  the  logical  habits  in 


'Alger. 


CULTURE. 


341 


question.  But  Latin  and  Greek  is  a  deeper  pedantry  for  women 
than  geometry,  and  much  less  desirable  on  many  accounts;  and 
geometry  would,  perhaps,  suffice  to  teach  them  wliat  reasoning 
is.  I  dare  say,  too,  there  are  accomplishments  which  might  be 
taught  scientifically,  and  so  even  the  prejudice  against  the  mani- 
fest study  of  science  by  w^omen  be  conciliated.  But  the  appre- 
ciation of  reasoning  must  be  got  somehow\ 

It  is  a  narrow  view  of  things  to  suppose  that  a  just  cultivation 
of  women's  mental  powers  will  take  them  out  of  their  sphere;  it 
will  only  enlarge  that  sphere.  The  most  cultivated  women  per- 
form their  common  duties  best.  Thev  see  more  in  those  duties ; 
they  can  do  more.  Lady  Jane  Grey  would,  I  dare  say,  have 
bound  up  a  wound,  or  managed  a  household,  with  any  unlearned 
woman  of  her  day.  Queen  Elizabeth  did  manage  a  kingdom ; 
and  we  find  no  pedantry  in  her  way  of  doing  it. 

People  w^ho  advocate  a  better  training  for  women  must  not, 
necessarily,  be  supposed  to  imagine  that  men  and  women  are  by 
education  to  be  made  alike,  and  are  intended  to  fulfill  most  of 
the  same  offices.  There  seems  reason  for  thinking  that  a  bound- 
ary line  exists  betw^een  the  intellects  of  men  and  women,  which, 
perhaps,  can  not  he  passed  over  from  either  side.  But,  at  any 
rate,  taking  the  whole  nature  of  both  sexes,  and  the  inevitable 
circumstances  which  cause  them  to  differ,  there  must  be  such  a 
difference  between  men  and  women  that  the  same  intellectual 
training  applied  to  both  would  produce  most  dissimilar  results. 
It  has  not,  however,  been  proposed  in  these  pages  to  adopt  the 
same  training,  and  would  have  been  still  less  likely  to  be  pro- 
posed if  it  could  be  shown  that  such  training  would  tend  to  make  , 
men  and  women  unpleasantly  similar  to  each  other.  The  utmost 
that  has  been  thought  of  here  is  to  make  more  of  women's  facul- 
ties, not  by  any  means  to  translate  them  into  men's — if  such  a 


342 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


343 


thing  were  possible,  wliich,  we  may  venture  to  say,  is  not.  There 
are  some  things  that  are  good  for  all  trees — light,  air,  room;  but 
no  one  expects,  by  aifording  some  similar  advantages  of  this  kind 
to  an  oak  and  a  beech,  to  find  them  assimilate,  though  by  such 
means  the  best  of  each  may  be  produced. 

Moreover,  it  should  be  recollected  that  the  purpose  of  educa- 
tion is  not  always  to  foster  natural  gifts,  but  sometimes  to  bring 
out  faculties  that  might  otherwise  remain  dormant,  and  especially 
so  far  as  to  make  the  j^ersons  educated  cognizant  of  excellence  in 
those  faculties  in  others.  A  certain  tact  and  refinement  belong 
to  women,  in  which  thev  have  little  to  learn  from  the  first ;  men, 
too,  who  attain  s  )me  portion  of  tliese  qualities,  are  greatly  the 
better  for  them,  and,  I  should  imagine,  not  less  acceptable  on 
that  account  to  women.  So,  on  the  other  side,  there  may  be  an 
intellectual  cultivation  for  women,  which  may  seem  a  little  against 
the  grain,  wdiich  would  not,  however,  injure  any  of  their  peculiar 
gifts ;  would,  in  fact,  carry  those  gifts  to  the  highest,  and  would 
increase,  withal,  both  to  men  and  women,  the  pleasure  of  each 
other's  societv.^ 

In  any  general  or  proper  use  of  language,  there  is  no  such 
thins:  as  a  finished  education.  The  most  successful  student  that 
ever  left  a  school,  or  took  his  degree  at  college,  never  arrived  at 
a  good  place  to  stop  in  his  intellectual  course.  In  fact,  the  far- 
ther he  goes,  the  more  desirous  will  he  feel  to  go  on  ;  and  if  you 
wish  to  find  an  instance  of  the  greatest  eagerness  and  interest 
with  which  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  is  prosecuted,  you  w^ill  find 
it  undoubtedly  in  the  case  of  the  most  accomplished  and  thorough 
scholar  which  the  country  can  furnish,  who  has  spent  a  long  life 
in  study,  and  Avho  finds  that  the  farther  he  goes  the  more  and 
more  widely  does  the  boundless  field  of  intelligence  open  before 
h'.m. 


'Give  up,  then,  at  once,  all  idea  of  finishing  your  education. 
The  sole  object  of  the  course  of  discipline  at  any  literary  insti- 
tution in  our  land  is  not  to  finish,  but  just  to  show  you  how  to 
begin;  to  give  you  an  impulse  and  a  direction  upon  that  course 
which  you  ought  to  pursue  witli  unabated  and  uninterrupted 
ardor  as  long  as  you  have  being.^ 

Education,  briefly,  is  the  leading  human  souls  to  what  is  best, 
and  making  what  is  best  out  of  them  ;  and  these  two  objects  are 
always  attainable  together  and  by  the  same  means.  The  training 
which  makes  men  happiest  in  themselves  also  makes  them  most 
serviceable  to  others.^ 

Ethical. — Knowledge  does  not  comprise  all  which  is  con- 
tained in  the  large  term  of  education.  The  feelings  arc  to  bo 
disciplined;  the  passions  are  to  be  restrained ;  true  and  worthy 
motives  arc  to  be  inspired;  a  profound  religious  feeling  is  to 
be  instilled,  and  pure  morality  inculcated  under  all  circum- 
stances.'^ 

The  great  mistake  of  the  age— the  great  mistake  of  all  ages, 
perhaps— is  that  of  placing  too  low  an  estimate  on  the  value  of 
moral  training.  As  a  department  of  educational  culture  we  have 
made  it  entirely  subordinate,  and  there  are  multitudes  who  make 
no  account  of  it  whatever.  The  questions  w^e  ask  about  a  young 
man  are  :  "  Is  he  bright?  How  much  does  he  know?  What 
can  he  do  ? ''  If  these  questions  can  be  answered  satisflictorily, 
and  it  can  be  further  shown  that  he  can  box  like  a  professional 
and  run  like  a  hound,  we  call  him  one  of  our  most  promising 
young  men.  With  good  intellectual  and  physical  training,  he  is 
regarded  as  entirely  fitted  for  the  struggle  of  life.  This  is  what 
we  pay  our  money  for.  Our  teachers  understand  that  their 
business  lies  not  with  the  decalogue,  but  the  multiplication  table. 
The  capacity  of  a  teacher  for  the  moral  training  of  a  child  is 


Helps. 


i  Abbott. 


2  Kuskin. 


3  Webster. 


344 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


something  that  we  very  rarely  look  into,  yet  nothing  is  more 
easily  demonstrable  than  that  moral  culture  is  far  more  impor- 
tant, if  we  can  have  but  one,  than  intellectual.^ 

The  moral  must  be  the  measure  of  health.  If  your  eye  is  on 
the  eternal,  your  intellect  will  grow,  and  your  opinions  aud 
actions  will  have  a  beauty  which  no  learning  or  combined  ad- 
vantajres  of  other  men  can  rival.  The  moment  of  vour  loss  of 
faith,  and  acceptance  of  the  lucrative  standard,  will  be  marked 
in  the  pause  or  solstice  of  genius,  the  sequent  retrogression,  and 
the  inevitable  loss  of  attraction  to  other  minds.  The  vulgar  are 
sensible  of  the  change  in  you  and  of  your  descent,  though  they 
clap  you  on  the  back,  and  congratulate  you  on  your  increased 
common  sense.^ 

A  more  secret,  sweet,  and  overpowering  beauty  appears  to 
man  when  his  heart  and  mind  open  to  the  sentiment  of  virtue. 
Then  he  is  instructed  in  what  is  above  him.  He  learns  that  his 
being  is  w^ithout  bound ;  that,  to  the  good,  to  the  perfect,  he  is 
born,  low  as  he  now  lies  in  evil  and  weakness.  That  which  he 
venerates  is  still  his  own,  though  he  has  not  realized  it  yet.  He 
ought.  He  knows  the  sense  of  that  grand  word,  though  his 
analysis  fails  entirely  to  render  account  of  it.  When,  in  inno- 
cency,  or  when,  by  intellectual  perception,  he  attains  to  say  :  "  I 
love  the  Right ;  Truth  is  beautiful,  within  and  without,  forever- 
more.  Virtue,  I  am  thine;  save  me;  use  me ;  thee  will  I  serve, 
day  and  night,  in  great,  in  small,  that  I  may  be  not  virtuous, 
but  virtue '' — then  is  the  end  of  the  creation  answered,  and  God 
is  well  pleased.  .  .  .  The  intuition  of  the  moral  sentiment 
is  an  insight  of  the  perfection  of  the  laws  of  the  soul.  These 
laws  execute  themselves ;  they  are  out  of  time,  out  of  space,  and 
not  subject  to  circumstance.  Thus  in  the  soul  of  man  there  is  a 
justice  whose  retributions  are  instant  and  entire.     He  who  does 


1  Holland. 


2  Emerson. 


CULTURE. 


345 


a  good  deed  is  instantly  ennobled.  He  who  does  a  mean  deed 
is,  by  the  action  itself,  contracted.  He  who  puts  off  impurity 
thereby  puts  on  purity.  If  a  man  is  at  heart  just,  then  in  so  fir 
is  he  God;  the  safety  of  God,  the  immortality  of  God,  the 
majesty  of  God,  do  enter  into  that  man  with  justice.  If  a  man 
dissemble,  deceive,  he  deceives  himself,  and  goes  out  of  acquaint- 
ance with  his  own  being.  A  man  in  the  view  of  absolute  good- 
ness adores  with  total  humility.  Every  step  so  downward  is  a 
step  upward.  The  man  who  renounces  himself  comes  to  him- 
self. .  .  .  Good  is  positive.  Evil  is  merely  privative,  not 
absolute  :  it  is  like  cold,  which  is  the  privation  of  heat.  All 
evil  is  so  much  death  or  nonentity.  Benevolence  is  absolute  and 
real.  So  much  benevolence  as  a  man  hath,  so  much  life  hath  he. 
For  all  things  proceed  out  of  this  same  spirit,  which  is  differently 
named  love,  justice,  temperance,  in  its  different  applications,  just 
as  the  ocean  receives  different  names  on  the  several  shores  which 
it  washes.  All  things  proceed  out  of  the  same  spirit,  and  all 
things  conspire  with  it.  Whilst  a  man  seeks  good  ends,  he  is 
strong  by  the  whole  strength  of  nature.  In  so  far  as  he  roves 
from  these  ends,  he  bereaves  himself  of  power,  of  auxiliaries ; 
his  being  shrinks  out  of  all  remote  channels ;  he  becomes  less 
and  less,  a  mote,  a   point,  until  absolute  badness  is  absolute 

death. ^ 

I  insist  that  the  Education  which  excludes  Moral  and  even 
Eeligious  culture— using  the  term  Eeligious  in  its  legitimate 
relation  to  the  sentiment  of  devotion,  and  wdth  no  regard  to 
creeds  or  formulas— is,  at  best,  superficial  and  defective— it  may 
be  pernicious  and  destructive.  I  will  not  now  say  how  much  or 
how  little  of  Education  should  be  left  to  the  school  and  its  min- 
istrations, but  I  do  say,  that  to  talk  of  a  man  being  educated 
when  he  lias  not  yet  learned  profoundly  that  any  wrong  action, 


>  Ibid. 


346 


MAN  AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


347 


however  outwardly  successful  or  unrebukcd,  is  a  deplorable  mis- 
take  on  the  part  of  the  willful  doer — a  ruinous  subtraction  from 
the  sum  of  his  own  happiness,  considered  simply  in  itself  and  its 
irresistible  consequences — is  to  use  words  in  utter  coutempt  of 
their  true  meaning.  Nay,  more:  our  Education  should  not 
merely  imprint  on  the  mind  the  general  truth  already  stated, 
but  the  full  and  particular  reasons  for  it  in  all  cases — should 
show  why  and  how  the  miser,  the  swindler,  the  drunkard,  the 
hypocrite,  the  libertine,  all  stand  in  their  own  light — all  make 
war  upon  themselves,  while  they  imagine  they  are  drainino- 
others'  measure  of  enjoyment  to  fill  to  overflowing  their  own. 
This  truth  thoroughly  mastered,  the  road  to  all  desirable  knowl- 
edge, to  all  true  happiness,  lies  open  and  easy  before  the  learner. 
Shall  it  not  be  the  triumph  of  our  age  to  unfold  and  apply  a 
truth  so  simple,  yet  so  mighty?  The  child  but  once  suffers  by 
clutching  the  glowing  fire-brand;  it  knows  thenceforth  that  the 
warmth  so  genial  in  its  appointed  sphere  becomes  anguish  and 
destruction  if  grasped  thus  recklessly.  Is  it  not  time  that 
civilized,  cultivated  Man  were  at  least  as  truly  wise  as  the 
infant? 

Let  none  imagine  that  I  am  proposing  to  cure  a  cancer  of  the 
heart  by  some  external  ablution ;  I  have  not  affirmed  that  the 
most  lucid  teaching,  the  most  careful  moral  culture,  will  imbue 
man  necessarily  with  a  right  spirit.  But  I  do  contend  that,  if 
all  the  natural  and  unavoidable  consequences  of  Crime  and 
AVrong-doing  were  clearly  and  fully  set  before  our  Youth  from 
infancy,  and  the  events  transpiring,  the  influences  surrounding 
them,  were  made  to  illustrate  and  enforce  the  lessons  so  imparted, 
there  would  be  impediments  to  actual  transgression  Avhich  it  would 
be  outright  madness  to  overleap.  What  thief  would  steal  if  he 
saw  the  officers  of  justice  ready  to  seize  him  in  the  act,  with  the 


door  of  the  State's  Prison  just  opening  to  receive  him  ?  Though 
fallen  as  Lucifer,  he  plainly  could  not  do  it.  What  we  need, 
then,  in  our  Practical  Education,  is  to  bring  home  the  conse- 
quences of  transgression  as  clearly  and  directly  to  every  man's 
understanding  as  in  this  instance;  to  show  our  youth  that  they 
can  not  possibly  step  aside  from  the  path  of  duty  without  bring- 
ing upon  themselves  suffering  and  degradation.  I  would  have 
them  taught  beyond  cavil  that  any  attempt  to  clutch  enjoyment 
by  Sin  is  as  insane  as  undertaking  to  warm  the  hands  by  grasping 
a  red-hot  bar  of  iron.^ 

A  complete  secularization  of  our  public  instruction  so  as 
essentiallv  to  exclude  moral  and  relijj^ious  education  would  be 
thoroughly  luiphilosopMcaL  To  do  this  is  to  ignore  the  true  end 
of  education.  What  is  that  end  ?  The  united  testimonv  of  all  rec- 
ognizcd  authority  harmonizes  with  the  judgment  of  all  thought- 
ful persons  in  answering  this  question.  Pestalozzi,  whose  place 
as  an  educator  is  universally  recognized,  and  of  whom  it  has  been 
truly  said  that  he  has  exerted  a  greater  influence  on  education 
than  any  other  man  in  England,  America,  and  the  north  of 
Europe,  states,  as  his  first  principle,  that "  education  relates  to  the 
whole  man,  and  consists  in  the  drawing  forth,  strengthening,  and 
perfecting  all  the  faculties  with  which  an  all-wise  Creator  has 
endowed  him,  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral."  ''  Education," 
he  says,  "  has  to  do  with  the  hand,  the  head,  and  the  heart.'^ 
Herbert  Spencer  will  surely  not  be  charged  with  any  bias  toward 
Puritanism  in  matters  of  education,  but  he  affirms  that  the  one 
end  of  all  true  education  is  to  learn  "  how  to  use  all  our  faculties 
to  the  greatest  advantage  of  ourselves  and  others,"  or,  in  other 
words,  "  how  to  live  completely.  And  this,  being  the  great 
thing  needful  for  us  to  learn,  is,  by  consequence,  the  great  thing 
which  education  has  to  teach.     To  prepare  us  for  complete  living 

1  Greeley. 


^ 


348 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


is  the  function  wnicli  education  has  to  discharge ;  and  the  only 
rational  mode  of  judging  of  any  educational  course  is  to  judge 
in  what  degree  it  discharges  that  function.'^ 

What  an  utter  neglect  of  this  true  and  philosophic  end  of  edu- 
cation is  manifest  in  a  system  that  proposes  only  to  furnish  the 
mind  with  a  few  facts,  or  subject  it  to  the  discipline  of  a  few 
intellectual  processes.  Such  a  system  also  entirely  ignores  the 
true  nature  of  the  child.  It  takes  but  the  most  partial  and 
imperfect  view  of  him.  In  the  estimation  of  such  a  theory,  he 
is  a  being  capable  of  learning  combinations  of  figures,  of  chatter- 
ing grammatical  sentences,  of  remembering  incidents  and  dates 
of  history,  and  nothing  more.  That  he  is  a  moral  being,  that  he 
has  a  conscience,  that  the  awakening  and  culture  of  his  moral 
nature  is  absolutely  essential  to  all  true  development,  that  unless 
this  is  done  no  worthy  end  of  education  is  ever  realized  and  no 
real  success  in  life  is  ever  achieved — all  this  is  forgotten  or 
treated  with  supreme  indifference,  not  to  say  contempt.  The 
noble.-t  part  of  our  nature  is  thus  untouched,  its  highest  functions 
are  never  employed,  and  no  appeal  is  ever  made  to  its  most 
inspiring  motives.  To  expect  any  valuable  results  from  such  an 
unphilosophical  and  irrational  process  is  to  insult  reason  and 
defy  logical  sequences.  As  well  might  you  attempt  to  execute  a 
difficult  piece  of  music  upon  an  organ  without  touching  its  prin- 
cipal keys  or  employing  its  most  important  pipes  ;  as  well  attempt 
to  solve  a  trigonometrical  problem  without  a  knowledge  of  the 
multiplication  table.  You  can  as  soon  make  a  scholar  out  of 
a  child  by  throwing  a  spelling-book  and  grammar  at  his  head  as 
you  can  make  him  a  useful  member  of  society  by  stuffing  him 
with  readers,  geographies,  and  arithmetics.^ 

Let  a  man  be  thoroughly  conscientious,  and  he  becomes  the 
salt  of  society,  the  light  of  the  world.     He  is  the  little  candle 

1  Rev.  C.  H.  Payne,  D.  D.,  President  of  Ohio  Wesleyan  University. 


CULTURE. 


849 


M'hich  throws  its  steady  beams  very  far  into  the  night.  Society 
leans  on  such  men ;  the  Church  leans  on  them ;  the  State  leans 
on  them.  All  depends  on  character.  One  man  who  has  a  char- 
acter of  his  own,  poised  on  principle,  is  stronger  than  all  other 
men  who  copy  each  other.  "When  the  righteous  die,"  says  the 
Talmud,  "it  is  the  earth  which  loses.  The  lost  jewel  M'ill  be 
always  a  jewel,  wherever  it  goes;  but  those  who  have  lost  it, 
they  may  weep.''  "'He  who  has  more  knowledge  than  good 
works  is  like  a  tree  "svith  many  l)ranches  and  few  roots,  which 
the  first  wind  throws  on  its  face,  while  he  who  does  more  than 
he  says  is  like  a  tree  wnth  strong  roots  and  few  branches,  Avhlch 
all  the  winds  can  not  uproot."  Confucius  says  :  "  To  live  accord- 
ing to  justice  is  like  the  pole-star,  which  stands  firm  while  the 
whole  heaven  moves  around  it."  ^ 

Volitional. — The  course  of  duty  is  not  always  the  easy 
course.  It  has  many  oppositions  and  difficulties  to  surmount. 
We  may  have  the  sagacity  to  see,  but  not  the  strength  of  i)urpose 
to  do.  To  the  irresolute  there  is  many  a  lion  in  the  way.  He 
thinks  and  moralizes  and  dreams,  but  does  nothing.  "  There  is 
little  to  see,"  said  a  hard  worker,  "and  little  to  do;  it  is  only 
to  do  it." 

There  must  not  only  be  a  conquest  over  likings  and  dislikings, 
but,  w^iat  is  harder  to  attain,  a  triunqjh  over  adverse  rejnite. 
The  man  whose  first  question,  after  a  right  course  of  action  has 
presented  itself,  is  "What  will  people  say?"  is  not  the  man  to 
do  anything  at  all.  But  if  he  asks,  "Is  it  my  duty?"  he  can 
then  proceed  in  his  moral  panoply,  and  be  ready  to  incur  men's  • 
censure,  and  even  to  brave  their  ridicule.  "  Let  us  have  faith 
in  fine  actions,"  says  M.  de  la  Cretelle,  "  and  let  us  reserve  doubt 
and  incredulity  for  bad.     It  is  even  better  to  be  deceived  than 

ft' 

to  distrust." 


1  Clarke. 


350 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Duty  is  first  learned  at  home.  The  ehikl  comes  into  the 
workl  helpless  and  dependent  on  others  for  its  health,  nurture, 
and  moral  and  physical  development.  The  child  at  length 
imbibes  ideas;  under  proper  influences  he  learns  to  obev  to 
control  himself,  to  be  kind  to  others,  to  be  dutiful  and  happy. 
He  has  a  will  of  his  own ;  but  wliether  it  be  well  or  ill  directed 
depends  very  much  upon  parental  influences. 

The  habit  of  willing  is  called  purpose;  and,  from  what  has 
been  said,  the  importance  of  forming  a  right  purjwse  early  in 
life  will  be  obvious. 

'' Character,"  says  Xovalis,  'Ms  a  completely-fashioned  will;" 
and  the  will,  when  once  fashioned,  may  be  steady  and  constant 
for  life.  When  the  true  man,  bent  on  good,  holds  by  his  pur- 
pose, he  places  but  small  value  on  the  rewards  or  praises  of  the 
world  ;  his  own  approving  conscience,  and  the  "  well  done " 
which  awaits  him,  is  his  best  reward. 

Will,  considered  without  regard  to  direction,  is  simply  con- 
stancy,   firmness,   perseverance.     But   it   will  be   obvious   that, 
unless  the   direction  of  the  character  be  ridit,  tlie  strono-  will 
may  be  merely  a  power  for  mischief     In  great  tyrants   It  is  a 
demon ;  with  power  to  wield,  it  knows  no  bounds  nor  restraint. 
It  holds  millions  subject  to  it;  inflames  their  passions,  excites 
them  to  military  fury,  and  is  never  satisfied  but  in  conquering, 
destroying,  and  tyrannizing.     The  boundless  Will  produces  an 
Alexander  or  a  Napoleon.     Alexander  cried  because  there  were 
no  more  kingdoms  to  conquer;  and  Bonaparte,  after  overrun- 
ning Europe,  spent  his  force  amid  the  snows  of  Russia.     ''  Con- 
quest has  made  me,"  he  said,  "and  conquest  must  maintain  me." 
But  he  was  a  man  of  no   moral  principle,  and  Europe  cast  him 
aside  when  his  work  of  destruction  was  done. 

The  strong  Will,  allied  to  right  motives,  is  as  full  of  blessings 


CULTURE. 


851 


as  the  other  is  of  mischief.  The  man  thus  influenced  moves  and 
inflames  the  minds  and  consciences  of  others.  He  bends  them 
to  his  views  of  duty,  carries  them  with  him  in  his  endeavors  to 
secure  worthy  objects,  and  directs  opinion  to  the  suppression  of 
wrong  and  the  establishment  of  right.  The  man  of  strong  will 
stamps  power  upon  his  actions.  His  energetic  perseverance  be- 
comes habitual.  He  gives  a  tone  to  the  company  in  which  he 
is,  to  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  and  even  to  the  nation  in 
which  he  is  born.  He  is  a  joy  to  the  timid,  and  a  perpetual 
reproach  to  the  sluggard.  He  sets  the  former  on  their  feet  by 
giving  them  hope.  He  may  even  inspire  the  latter  to  good 
deeds  by  the  influence  of  his  example.  Tennyson  hits  the  mark 
in  the  following  words : 

O  living  Will,  that  shalt  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 

Else  in  the  spiritual  rock, 
Flow  through  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure; 

That  we  may  lift,  from  out  of  dust, 

A  voice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 

A  cry  abovf^  the  conquered  years, 
To  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trust, 

W^ith  faith  that  comes  of  self-control,  • 

The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved, 

Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved. 
And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 


Besides  the  men  of  strong  bad  wills  and  strong  good  wills, 
there  is  a  far  larger  number  who  have  very  weak  wills,  or  no 
wills  at  all.  They  are  characterless.  They  have  no  strong  will 
for  vice,  yet  they  have  none  for  virtue.  They  are  the  passive 
recipients  of  impressions,  which,  however,  take  no  hold  of  them. 


852 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


They  seem  neither  to  go  forward  nor  backward.  As  the  Avind 
blows,  so  their  vane  turns  round ;  and  when  the  wind  blows 
from  another  quarter,  it  turns  round  again.  Any  instrument  can 
write  on  such  spirits;  any  will  can  govern  theirs.  They  cherish 
no  truth  strongly,  and  do  not  know  what  earnestness  is.  Such 
persons  constitute  the  mass  of  society  everywhere — -the  careless, 
the  passive,  the  submissive,  the  feeble,  and  the  ir.diifcrent. 

It  is,  therefore,  of  the  utmost  importance  that  attention  should 
be  directed  to  the  improvement  and  strengthening  of  the  Will; 
for  without  this  there  can  neither  be  independence,  nor  firmness, 
nor  individuality  of  character.  Without  it  we  can  not  give  truth 
its  proper  force,  nor  morals  their  proper  direction,  nor  save  our- 
selves from  bein<j:  machines  in  the  hands  of  worthless  and  desi2:u- 
ing  men.  Intellectual  cultivation  will  not  give  decision  of 
character.  Philosophers  discuss;  decisive  men  act.  "  Xot  to 
resolve,'^  says  Bacon,  "  Is  to  resolve'' — that  is,  to  do  nothing. 

"The  right  time,''  says  Locke,  "to  educate  the  Will  aright  is 
in  youth.  There  is  a  certain  season  when  our  minds  may  be 
enlarged,  when  a  vast  stock  of  useful  truths  may  be  acquired ; 
when  our  passions  will  readily  submit  to  the  government  of  rea- 
son ;  when  right  principles  may  be  so  fixed  in  us  as  to  influence 
every  important  action  in  our  future  lives.  But  the  season  for 
this  extends  neither  to  the  whole  nor  to  anv  considerable  len^^fth 
of  our  continuance  upon  earth.  It  is  limited  to  but  a  few  years 
of  our  term,  and  if  throughout  these  we  neglect  it,  error  or 
ignorance  is,  according  to  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  entailed 
upon  us.  Our  Will  becomes  our  law,  and  our  lusts  gain  a 
strenth  which  we  afterward  vainly  oppose."  ^ 

iEsTHETiCAL. — All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the 
face  of  the  world;  some  men  even  to  delight.  This  love  of 
beauty  is  Taste.     Others  have  the  same  love  in  such  excess,  that, 


1  Smiles. 


CULTURE. 


a53 


not  content  with  admiring,  they  seek  to  embody  it  in  new  forms. 
The  creation  of  beauty  is  Art. 

The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a  light  upon  the  mys- 
tery of  humanity.  A  work  of  art  is  an  abstract  or  epitome  of 
the  world.  It  is  the  result  or  expression  of  nature,  in  miniature  ; 
for,  although  the  works  of  nature  are  innumerable  and  all  differ- 
ent, the  result  or  the  expression  of  them  all  is  similar  and  single. 
Nature  is  a  sea  of  forms  radically  alike,  and  even  unique.  A  leaf, 
a  sunbeam,  a  landscape,  the  ocean,  make  an  analogous  impression 
on  the  mind.  What  is  common  to  them  all — that  perfectness 
and  harmony — is  beauty.  The  standard  of  beauty  is  the  entire 
circuit  of  natural  forms — the  totality  of  nature — w^hich  the  Ital- 
ians expressed  by  defining  beauty,  "  il piu  ncll  ^uno:^  Nothing 
is  quite  beautiful  alone ;  nothing  but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole.  A 
single  object  is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  suggests  this  universal 
grace.  The  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  the  musician,  the 
architect,  seek  each  to  concentrate  this  radiance  of  the  w^orld  on 
one  point,  and  each  in  his  several  Avork  to  satisfy  the  love  of 
beauty  which  stimulates  him  to  produce.  Thus  is  Art — a  nature 
passed  through  the  alembric  of  man.  Thus  in  Art  does  nature 
W73rk  through  the  will  of  a  man  filled  with  the  beauty  of  her  first 
works. 

The  w^orld  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy  the  desire  of  beauty. 
This  element  I  call  an  ultimate  end.  No  reason  can  be  asked 
or  given  why  the  soul  seeks  beauty.  Beauty,  in  its  largest  and 
profoundcst  sense,  is  one  expression  for  the  universe.  God  is 
the  all-fair.^ 

The  imagination  is  the  faculty  by  means  of  which  we  grasp 
this  beauty,  and  hold  it  before  our  mind  while  we  attempt  to 
realize  it.  Every  human  action,  done  well,  partakes  of  this  ele- 
ment of  beauty.     When  books  were  all  written  with  the  pen. 


24 


1  Emerson. 


354 


MAN    AND    1113    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


355 


before  the  invention  of  printing,  many  manuscripts  were  so  beau- 
tifully written  as  to  become  works  of  art.  A  piece  of  good  hand- 
writing is  still  beautiful;  good  reading  is  beautiful.  This  ele- 
ment of  beauty  descends  into  the  most  humble  acts  of  human 
life,  and  gives  a  charm  to  every  human  work  when  it  is  done 
according  to  an  ideal  standard. 

If  we  limit  beauty  too   narrowly,  we  fall  into  the  danger  of 
becoming  fastidious.     This  is  a  disease  which  affects  many  artists, 
and  grows  into  an    irritable  and  nervous  dislike  of  everything 
not  in  the  best  taste.     It  is  a  bad  thing  to   cultivate  the  love  of 
beauty  when  it  makes  common  things,  people,  life,  distasteful  to 
us.     It  need   not  do  so,  as  appears  from  the  example  of  such 
great  poets  as  Burns,  Wordsworth,  Whittier,  who  have  known 
how  to  glorify  common  life  and  every-day  people  with  the  charm 
of  romance.      These  great   masters  make  the  humblest  flower 
Immortal  in  their  song;    walk  in  glory  and  in  joy,  following 
their  plow  along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  impart  some  ran- 
dom truth  from  the  common  things  which  lie  around  us. 

No  man  can  be  wholly  unhappy  who  is  accustomed  to  look 
for  beauty  in   nature  and  in   human  life.     His  is  a  joy  which 
never  wearies.     As  we  grow  old  many  of  our  senses  grow  dull, 
but  the  sense   of  beauty  becomes  a  more  perfect  enchantment 
every  year.     Each  new  spring  seems  to  open  in  more  exuberant, 
miraculous  grace,  tenderness,  and  charm  than  the  last.     Every 
new  rosebud  seems  the  most  perfect  one  we  ever  saw.     The  ten- 
der lights  and   rosy  coloring  of  the  auroral  dawn  ;  the  drifting 
feathery  cirri  clouds  in  the  depths  of  the  blue  heavens ;  the  grace 
of  a  kitten  playing  on  the  carpet ;  the  wonder  in  the  eyes  of  an 
infant;  the  innocent  snow,  with  its  soft  curves,   drifting  over 
fields  and  weighing  down  the   laboring  trees;  the  splendor  of 
sunset,  when  the  king  of  day  holds  his  court,  surrounded  by  his 


magnificent  cloud-courtiers,  appareled  in  all  gorgeous  colors; 
the  forest  and  Avood,  with  their  delicate  mosses  beU)w,  and  their 
lights  and  shadows  above — how  the  goodness  of  God  seems  to 
descend  into  our  human  heart  throu2:h  all  these  messaws,  savinir 
how  He  loves  xl'?,  and  what  a  home  He  has  made  for  us!     .     .     . 

The  diseases  of  the  imagination  are  of  two  kinds:  one  is  of 
lethargy,  when  it  is  stupefied,  and  does  not  act ;  the  other  is 
when   it   is  in  excess,  and   acts  without  restraint  or  guidahce. 

All  mere  drudgery  tends  to  stupefy  the  imagination.  And  all 
work  is  drudgery  which  is  done  mechanically,  with  the  hand  and 
not  with  the  mind;  when  we  are  not  trying  to  do  our  work  as 
well  as  possible,  but  only  as  well  as  is  necessary.  Such  work 
stupefies  the  ideal  faculty,  quenches  the  sense  of  beauty.  The 
day-laborer  is  not  necessarily  a  drudge,  for  he  may  try  to  do  his 
work  as  well  as  he  can.  When  he  does  this,  he  becomes  an 
artist.  But,  when  a  man  tries  to  shirk  his  work,  when  he  does 
it  in  a  slovenly  way,  not  as  well  as  he  might,  then  he  becomes  a 
drudge,  even  though  his  work  be  that  of  a  poet  or  a  sculptor. 
He  ceases  to  exercise  his  ideal  faculty,  and  stupefies  it.  Then 
the  sense  of  beauty  dies  out  of  his  mind.  When  men  conform 
to  custom,  though  they  know  it  is  wrong  custom,  sacrifice  con- 
science to  convenience,  principle  to  success,  say  and  do,  not  what 
they  believe  true  and  right,  but  what  they  think  to  be  popular 
and  profitable — then,  though  they  may  be  senators  and  states- 
men, great  lawyers  or  great  preachers,  they  are  really  drudges; 
they  are  stupefying  their  ideal  nature. 

The  other  disease  of  the  imagination  is  when  it  is  unrestrained 
and  unregulated.  Some  people  live  in  a  world  of  dreams,  apart 
from  life.  They  are  cradled  in  illusions;  they  surround  them- 
selves with  a  world  of  romance ;  they  become  disgusted  witli 
actual  life ;  they  feed  their  minds  with  novels,  fairy  tales,  and 


s  1 1 


356 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


357 


works  of  fancy,  and  thus  become  unfitted  for  reality.  They 
abhor  everything  commonplace;  they  indulge  in  reverie,  and 
make  their  daily  food  of  ^vhat  should  be,  at  best,  an  occasional 
refreshment.  Now,  this  is  a  real  disease  of  the  imagination.  It 
i.s  fever,  and  tends  to  uselessness,  unrest,  and  insanity. 

The  cure  for  both  these  diseases  is  the  same.  It  is  to  seek 
bcuutv,  not  in  the  world  of  dreams,  but  in  the  actual  world,  and 
the  actual  life.  Looking  thus,  we  shall  soon  sec  that  beauty  is 
IK)  monopoly  of  artists,  poets,  dreamers ;  that  all  life  may  be- 
come high  art;  that  all  we  do,  when  done  according  to  an  ideal 
standard,  instantly  partakes  of  this  element  of  beauty.  Then, 
too,  it  will  be  seen  that  all  nature  is  saturated  and  overflowing 
with  beauty  ;  that  our  Italy  and  Switzerland  are  here  in  Massa- 
chusetts; that  one  look  at  the  morning  sky  or  evening  sunset 
may  reveal  inexhaustible  delights;   that 

You  can  not  wave  your  staff  in  the  air, 

Or  dip  your  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 

And  the  ripples  in  rhyme  the  oar  forsake.    * 

If  that  much-neglected  and  much-abused  faculty  of  Imagina- 
tion were  trained  from  youth  to  clothe  common  life  with  charms, 
how  few  would  be  without  amusement,  even  in  the  most  straight- 
cneil  circumstances!  Nature  is  full  of  light  and  motion,  and 
sounds  and  colors  ;  but  men  do  not  enjoy  these  things.  Nature 
is  full  of  mimic  life,  and  that  life  is  full  of  strife,  pursuits,  bat- 
tles, peace,  amity,  and  affection  ;  but,  then,  men  do  not  care  for 
insect  life.  Nature  is  full  of  grace  and  charming  variety,  of  hue 
and  shape,  of  contrast  and  analogy,  in  her  mineral  garden  ;  but, 
then,  men  do  not  care  for  mineralogy  and  geology. 

So,  then,  the  great  theater  is  open  ;  its  scenes  are  shifted  every 

1  Clarke. 


hour;  its  -actors  are  innumerable  and  inimitable;  its  orchestra 
full  and  tuneful;  but  men,  ^'having  eyes  see  not,  and  ears  hear 
not.'^     They  yawn  and  stretch,  and  wish  they  had  something  to  do. 

To  make  much  of  little,  to  find  reasons  of  interest  in  common 
things,  to  develop  a  sensibility  to  mild  enjoyments,  to  inspire  the 
imagination,  to  throw  a  charm  upon  homely  and  flimiliar  thingv^, 
will  constitute  a  man  master  of  his  own  happiness.^ 

The  circle  of  human  nature,  then,  is  not  complete  without  the 
arc  of  feeling  and  emotion.  The  lilies  of  the  field  have  a  value 
for  us  bevond  their  botanical  ones — a  certain  bVhteninc:  of  tlie 
heart  accompanies  the  declaration  that '^  Solomon  in  all  his  glorv 
was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these."  The  sound  of  the  village 
bell  which  comes  mellow^ed  from  the  valley  to  the  traveler  upon 
the  hill  has  a  value  beyond  its  acoustical  one.  The  setting  sun, 
when  it  mantles  with  the  bloom  of  roses  the  Alpine  snows,  has  a 
value  beyond  its  optical  one.  The  starry  heavens,  as  you  know, 
had  for  Immanuel  Kant  a  value  bevond  their  astronomical  one. 
Round  about  the  intellect  sweeps  the  horizon  of  emotions  from 
which  all  our  noblest  impulses  are  derived.  I  think  it  very 
desirable  to  keep  this  horizon  open  —  not  to  permit  either 
priest  or  philosopher  to  draw  down  his  shutters  between  you 
and  it.^ 

No  man  receives  the  true  culture  of  a  man  in  whom  the  sensi- 
bilitv  to  the  beautiful  is  not  cherished  ;  and  I  know  of  no  con- 
dition  in  life  from  which  it  should  be  excluded.  Of  all  luxuries 
this  is  cheapest  and  the  most  at  hand ;  and  it  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  most  important  to  those  conditions  where  coarse  labor  tends 
to  give  a  grossness  to  the  mind.^ 

Ideas  of  beauty  are  among  the  noblest  which  can  be  pre- 
sented to  the  human  mind,  invariably  exalting  and  purifying 
it  according  to  their  degree ;  and  it  would  appear  that  we  are 


m 


\i 


1  Beecher. 


2  Professor  Tyndall. 


3  Channing. 


1^ 


358 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


f 
^ 


CULTURE. 


359 


intended  by  the  Deity  to  be  constantly  under  their  influence, 
because  there  is  not  one  single  object  in  nature  which  is  not 
capable  of  conveying  them,  and  which,  to  the  rightly  perceiving 
mind,  does  not  present  an  incalculably  greater  number  of  beauti- 
ful than  of  deformed  parts;  there  being,  in  fact,  scarcely  any- 
thing, in  pure,  undiseased  nature,  like  positive  deformity,  but 
only^'degrees  of  beauty,  or  such  slight  and  rare  points  of  per- 
mitted Contrast  as  may  render  all  around  them  more  valuable 
],y  their  opposition,  spots  of  blackness  in  creation,  to  make  its 

colors  felt.^ 

Nothing  is  so  improving  to  the  temper  as  the  study  of  the 
beauties  either  of  poetry,  eloquence,  music,  or  painting.     They 
give  a  certain  elegance  of  sentiment  to  which  the  rest  of  man- 
kind are  strangers.     The  emotions  which  they  excite  are  soft 
and  tender.     They  draw  off  the  mind  from  the  hurry  of  busi- 
ness and  interest;  cherish  reflection  ;  dispose  to  tranquillity;  and 
produce  an  agreeable  melancholy,  which  of  all  dispositions  of 
the  mind  is  best  suited  to  love  and  friendship.     In  the  second 
place,  a  delicacy  of  taste  is  favorable  to  love  and  friendship,  by 
confining  our  choice  to  few  people,  and  making  us  indifferent 
to  the  company  and  conversation  of  the  greater  part  of  men.^ 

Why  not  have  some  elegance  in  even  the  humblest  home? 
We  must,  of  course,  have  cleanliness,-  which  is  the  special  ele- 
gance of  th.e  poor.  But  why  not  have  pleasant  and  delightful 
things  to  look  upon?  There  is  no  reason  why  the  humbler 
classes  should  not  surround  themselves  with  the  evidences  of 
beauty  and  comfort  in  all  their  shapes,  and  thus  do  homage  alike 
to  the  gifts  of  God  and  the  labors  of  man.  The  taste  for  the 
beautiful  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  useful  endowments.  It  is 
one  of  the  handmaids  of  civilization.  Beauty  and  elegance  do 
nr.t  necessarily  belong  to  the  homes  of  the  rich.     They  are,  or 


ought  to  be,  all  pervading.  Beauty  in  all  things — in  nature,  in 
art,  in  science,  in  literature,  in  social  and  domestic  life. 

How  beautiful  and  yet  how  cheap  are  flowers !  Xot  exotics, 
but  what  are  called  common  flowers.  A  rose,  for  instance,  is 
among  the  most  beautiful  of  the  smiles  cf  nature.  The  ^Maugh- 
ing  flowers,'^  exclaims  the  poet.  But  there  is  more  than  gayety 
in  blooming  flowers,  though  it  takes  a  wise  man  to  see  the 
beauty,  the  love,  and  the  adaptation  of  which  they  are  full.    .    .     . 

Bring  one  of  the  commonest  field-flowers  into  a  room,  place  it 
on  a  table  or  chimney-piece,  and  you  seem  to  have  brought  a  ray 
of  sunshine  into  the  place.  There  is  a  cheerfulness  about  flower?. 
What  a  delight  are  they  to  the  drooping  invalid  !  They  are  a 
sweet  enjoyment,  coming  as  messengers  from  the  country,  and 
seeming  to  say,  ''  Come  and  see  the  place  where  we  grow,  and 
let  your  heart  be  glad  in  our  presence." 

What  can  be  more  innocent  than  flowers?  Thev  are  like 
children  undimmed  by  sin.  They  are  emblems  of  purity  and 
truth,  a  source  of  fresh  delight  to  the  pure  and  innocent.  The 
heart  that  does  not  love  flowers,  or  the  voice  of  a  playful  child, 
can  not  be  genial.  It  was  a  beautiful  conceit  that  invented  a 
language  of  flowers,  by  Avhich  lovers  w^ere  enabled  to  express 
the  feelings  that  they  dared  not  openly  speak.  But  flowers  have 
a  voice  for  all — old  and  young,  rich  and  poor.  ^^  To  me,"  says 
Wordsworth, 

The  meanest  flower  that  blows,  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

Have  a  flower  in  the  room,  by  all  means!  It  will  cost  only  a 
penny,  if  your  ambition  is  moderate,  and  the  gratification  it  gives 
will  be  beyond  price.  If  you  can  have  a  flower  for  your  window, 
so  much  the  better.     What  can  be  more  delicious  than  the  sun's 


i 


1  Ruskin. 


2  Hume. 


360 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


361 


light  streaming  through  flowers — through  the  midst  of  crimson 
fuchsias  and  scarlet  geraniums?  To  look  out  into  the  light 
through  flowers — is  not  that  poetry  ?  and  to  break  the  force  of 
the  sunbeams  by  the  tender  resistance  of  green  leaves  ?  If  you 
can  train  a  nasturtium  round  the  window,  or  some  sweet-pease, 
then  you  will  have  the  most  beautiful  frame  you  can  invent  for 
the  picture  without,  whether  it  be  the  busy  crowd,  or  a  distant 
landscape,  or  trees  with  their  lights  and  shades,  or  the  changes 
of  the  passing  clouds.  Any  one  may  thus  look  through  flowers 
for  the  price  of  an  old  song.  And  what  pure  taste  and  refine- 
ment does  it  not  indicate  on  the  part  of  the  cultivator  !     .     .     . 

Why  not,  besides  the  beauty  of  nature,  have  a  taste  for  the 
beauty  of  art?  Why  not  hang  up  a  picture  in  the  room?  In- 
genious methods  have  been  discovered — some  of  them  quite 
recently — for  almost  infinitely  multiplying  works  of  art,  by 
means  of  wood  engravings,  lithographs,  photographs,  and  auto- 
types, which  render  it  possible  for  every  person  to  furnish  his 
rooms  with  beautiful  pictures.  Skill  and  science  have  thus 
brought  art  within  reach  of  the  poorest. 

Any  picture,  print,  or  engraving  that  represents  a  noble 
thought,  that  depicts  a  heroic  act,  or  that  brings  a  bit  of  nature 
from  the  fields  or  the  streets  into  our  room,  is  a  teacher,  a  means 
of  education,  and  a  help  to  self-culture.  It  serves  to  make  the 
home  more  pleasant  and  attractive.  It  sweetens  domestic  life, 
and  sheds  a  grace  and  beauty  about  it.  It  draws  the  gazer  away 
from  mere  considerations  of  self,  and  increases  his  store  of 
delightful  associations  with  the  w^orld  without  as  well  as  with  the 
world  within. 

The  portrait  of  a  great  man,  for  instance,  helps  us  to  read  his 
life.  It  invests  him  with  a  personal  interest.  Looking  at  his 
features,  we  feel  as  if  we  knew  him  better,  and  were  more  closely 


related  to  him.  Such  a  portrait,  hung  up  before  us  daily,  at  our 
meals  and  during  our  leisure  hours,  unconsciously  serves  to  lift 
us  up  and  sustain  us.  It  is  a  link  that  in  some  way  binds  us  to 
a  higher  and  nobler  nature.^ 

Oh,  happy  he  who  is  in  love  with  beauty — to  whom  flowers 
are  a,  heavenly  language,  day  and  niglit,  and  weeks  and  months, 
and  years  and  centuries  a  rhythmic  song,  music  a  revelation  of 
the  infinite  and  the  divine,  seas  and  skies  and  mountains  and 
plains  voiceful  echoes  of  the  Everlasting  Word,  and  all  life 
the  expression  of  the  Everlasting  Love!  Oh,  happy  he  whose 
culture  lifts  him  into  an  apprehension  of  fitness  and  harmony, 
and  Avho  is  able  to  gather  around  him,  in  humbler  or  higher 
creations  of  art,  those  appointments  of  form  and  color  which 
make  an  embodied  poem  of  his  life  !  Oh,  happy  he  who  can  rise 
out  of  his  work,  and,  from  this  heavenly  realm  of  culture,  look 
down  upon  it,  and  recognize  the  fact  that  it  is  only  the  minister 
to  a  life  as  far  above  it  as  the  heavens  are  above  the  earth.^ 

Studies. — Every  act  of  the  mind  ends  in  a  knowledge,  some- 
times only  subjective,  but  generally  both  subjective  and  objective. 
Thus  I  am  conscious  of  a  simple  emotion;  here  is  a  mental  act, 
a  mere  subjective  knowledge.  I  perceive  a  tree;  here  is  a  sub- 
jective consciousness  and  an  objective  knowledge.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  every  knowledge  j^resi/pposcs  an  act  of  mind  ;  for, 
were  there  no  mind,  or  were  the  mind  incapable  of  action,  knowl- 
edge would  be  impossible. 

From  this  simple  and  obvious  fact  it  has  naturally  come  to 
pass  that  men  have  looked  upon  the  subject  of  education  in  two 
distinct  points  of  view,  as  they  have  contemplated  either  the  act 
of  mind  or  the  knowdedge  in  which  it  results.  Hence,  some 
have  considered  education  to  consist  merelv  in  the  communica- 
tion  of  knowdedge,  others  almost  entirely  in  the   discipline  of 


-I 


1  Smiles. 


2  Holland. 


362 


MAX    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


mind.  If  the  first  l;c  our  object,  it  will  be  successfully  accom- 
j)l!slie(l  precisely  in  proportion  to  the  amount  and  the  value  of 
the  knowk'dge  which  ^vc  communicate.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  des'.re  simply  to  cultivate  the  intellect,  our  success  must  be 
me;;siired  by  the  liumber  of  faculties  which  we  improve,  and  the 
deirree  of  culture  Avliich  we  have  imparted  to  them. 

It  is,  I  presume,  f  )r  this  reason  that  a  division  has,  to  a  con- 
siderable degree,  been  established  between  the  studies  Avhich 
enter  into  our  course  of  higher  education.  Some  of  them,  of 
v»hich  the  results  are  acknowledged  to  be,  in  general,  valueless, 
are  prosecuted  on  account  of  the  mental  disci])line  wliicli  they 
are  supposed  to  impart.  That  they  tend  to  nothing  practical  has 
sometimes  been  deemed  their  appropriate  excellence.  Hence, 
some  learned  men  have  exulted  rather  facetiously  in  the  "  glori- 
ous inutility  "  of  the  studies  which  they  recommend.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  manv  studies  which  communicate  knowl- 
edge,  admitted  by  all  men  t  >  be  indispensable,  which  are  sup- 
posed to  convey  no  mental  discipline,  or,  at  L'ast,  only  that 
which  is  of  the  most  clementarv  character.  Hence,  vou  at  once 
perceive  that  a  wide  ground  for  debate  is  afforded,  which  writers 
on  education  have  not  been  backward  to  occupy.  Hence,  also, 
the  various^discussions  on  the  best  methods  of  education,  which 
seem  to  me  to  approach  with  but  slow  and  unequal  steps  to  any 
definite  conclusion.  The  studies  which  are  most  relied  on  for 
mental  discipline,  for  instance,  are  the  classics  and  the  mathe- 
matics. While  the  advocates  for  these  discard,  almost  contempt- 
uously, all  other  methods  of  culture,  they  are  by  no  means  agreed 
among  themselves.  The  mathematicians  look  with  small  favor 
upon  the  lovers  of  lexicons,  and  paradigms,  and  accents,  and 
claim  that  nothing  but  exact  science  can  invigorate  the  power  of 
ratiocination,  on  which  all  certainty  of  knowledge  depends.    The 


CULTURE. 


363 


philologists,  on  the  other  hand,  inveigh,  in  no  measured  terms, 
a<>-ainst  the  narrow^  range  of  mathematical  culture,  and  boldly 
affirm  that   it   unfits  men   for  all   reasoning  concerning  matter 
actually  existing,  while  it  withers  up  every  delicate  sentiment 
and  turns  into  an  arid  waste  the  entire  field  of  our  emotional 
nature.     ...     Is  it  not  rather  to  be  believed  that  He  has 
made  each  of  these  ends  to  harmonize  with  the  other,  so  that  all 
intellectual  culture  shall  issue  in  knowdedge  which  shall  confer 
benefits  on  the  whole,  and  all  knowledge  properly  acquired  shall, 
in  an  equal  degree,  tend  to  intellectuil  development?     .     .     . 
We  might  suppose  that  that  which  God  had  made  most  necessary 
to  our  existence  would  be,  in  the  highest  degree,  scdf-disciplinary. 
Thus  every  one,  whatever  his  position,  may  >vell  be  supposed  to 
possess  the  means  of  developin,^  his  own  powers,  and  arriving 
at  the  standing  of  an  intellectual  man.     There  is  nothing  in  the 
nature  of  any  occupation  that  renders  such  an  expectation  ex- 
trava^-ant.     The  uncles  of  Hugh  Miller  were  highly  cultivated 
men,  reading  the  best  books,  concerning  one  of  whom  he  re- 
marks :     "  There  are  professors  of  natural   history  who   know 
less  of  livino;  nature  than  was  known  by  Uncle  Sandy;"  and 
yet  one  of  them  was  a  harness-maker,  and  the  other  a  stone- 
mason, each  laboring  industriously  at  his  calling,  for  daily  bread, 
for  six  days  in  the  week. 

But,  if  we  take  no  account  of  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
and  confine  ourselves  simply  to  intellectual  culture,  I  apprehend 
that  we  shall  arrive  at  substantially  the  same  result.  Suppose 
that  our  sole  object  is  to  develop  the  powers  of  the  human 
mind — we  must  then  first  ask  what  are  these  powers?  It  will 
be  sufficient  for  our  present  purpose  to  consider  the  following, 
as  thev  are  allowed  to  be  the  most  important :  Perception,  by 
which  we  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  the  phenomena  of  the  world 


364 


MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


without  US ;  Consciousness,  by  which  we  become  aware  of  the 
chano-es  in  the  worhl  within  us  ;  Abstraction  and  Generalization, 
by  which  our  knowledge  of  individuals  becomes  the  knowledge 
of  classes ;  Reasoning,  by  which  we  use  the  known  to  discover 
the  unknown  ;  Imagination,  by  which  we  construct  pictures  in 
poetry  and  ideals  in  philosophy;  and  Memory,  by  which  all 
these  various  forms  of  past  knowledge  are  recalled  and  made 
available  for  the  present. 

Now,  if  such  be  the  powers  conferred  on  us  by  our  Creator,  it 
must,  I  think,  be  admitted  that  each  of  them  is  designed  for  a 
particular  purpose,  and  that  a  human  mind  would  be  fatally 
deficient  were  any  one  of  them  wanting.  In  our  cultivation  of 
mind,  then,  we  nuist  have  respect,  not  to  one  or  two  of  them, 
but  to  all,  since  that  is  the  most  perfect  mind  in  which  all  of 
them  are  the  most  fully  developed. 

If,  then,  we  desire  to  improve  the  intellect  of  man  by  study, 
it  is  obvious  that  that  study  will  be  the  best  adapted  to  our  pur- 
pose which  cultivates  not  one,  but  all,  of  these  faculties,  and 
cultivates  them  all  most  thoroughly.  We  cultivate  our  powers 
of  every  kind  by  exercise,  and  that  study  will  most  effectually 
aid  us  in  the  work  of  self-development  which  requires  the  orig- 
inal exercise  of  the  greatest  number  of  them. 

Supposing  this  to  be  admitted,  which  I  think  will  not  be 
denied,  the  question  will  arise  what  studies  are  best  adapted  to 
our  purpose.  This  is  a  question  which  can  not  be  settled  by 
authority.  We  are  just  as  capable  of  deciding  it  as  the  men  who 
have  gone  before  us.  They  were  once,  like  ourselves,  men  of 
the  present,  and  their  wisdom  has  not  certainly  any  addition 
from  the  slumber  of  centuries.  They  may  have  been  able  to 
judge  correctly  for  the  time  that  then  icas^  but  could  they  re- 
visit us  now,  they  might  certainly  be  no  better  able  than  our- 


CULTURE. 


365 


selves  to  judge  correctly  for  the  time  that  now  is.  If  any  of  us 
should  be  heard  of  two  hundred  years  hence,  it  would  surely  be 
strange  folly  for  the  men  of  A.  D.  2054  to  receive  our  sayings  as 
oracles  concerning  the  conditions  of  society  which  will  be  then 
existing.  God  gives  to  every  age  the  means  for  perceiving  its 
own  wants  and  discovering  the  best  manner  of  supplying  them  ; 
and  it  is,  therefore,  certainly  best  that  every  age  should  decide 
such  questions  for  itself.     We  can  not,  certainly,  decide  thegi  by 

authority. 

There  are  two  methods  by  which  we  can  determine  the  truth 
in  this  matter.  First,  we  may  examine  any  particular  study  and 
observe  the  faculties  of  mind  which  it  does  and  which  it  does  not 
call  into  action.  Every  reasonable  man,  at  all  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  his  own  mind,  will  be  able  to  do  this.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  studies  which  are  pursued  for  the  sake  merely  of 
discipline — do  they  call  into  exercise  one  or  many  of  our  facul- 
ties? Suppose  they  cultivate  the  reasoning  power  and  the  power 
of  poetic  combination — do  they  do  anything  else?  If  not,  what 
have  we  by  which  to  improve  the  powers  of  observation,  of  con- 
sciousness, of  generalization,  and  combination — these  most  im- 
portant and  most  valuable  of  our  faculties?  If,  then,  their 
range  be  so  limited,  it  may  be  deserving  of  inquiry  w^hether  some 
studies  which  can  improve  a  larger  number  of  our  faculties 
might  not  sometimes  take  their  places;  and  yet  more,  whether 
they  should  occupy  so  large  a  portion  of  the  time  devoted  to 
education. 

But  we  may  examine  the  subject  by  another  test.  Y/e  may 
ask,  what  are  the  results  actually  produced  by  devotion  to  those 
studies  which  are  allowed  to  be  merely  disciplinary  ?  We  teach 
the  mathematics  to  cultivate  the  reasoning  power,  and  the  lan- 
guages to  improve  the  imagination  and  the  taste.     We,  then. 


3G6 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


36: 


may  very  properly  inquire,  are  mathematicians  better  reasoners 
than  other  men  in  matters  not  mathcniatical?  As  a  student 
advances  in  the  mathematics,  do  we  find  his  powers  of  ratiocina- 
tion in  anvthinj^  but  the  relations  of  quantity,  to  be  visibly 
improved?  Are  philologists  or  classical  students  more  likely  to 
become  poets  or  artists  than  other  men ;  or  does  their  style,  by 
this  mode  of  discipline,  approach  more  nearly  to  the  classical 
models  of  their  own  or  of  any  other  language? 

It  is  bv  such  considerations  as  these  that  this  question  is  to  be 
answered.  We  have  long  since  abjured  all  belief  in  magical 
influences.  If  we  can  not  discover  any  law  of  nature  by  which 
a  cause  produces  its  effect,  and  are  unable  to  perceive  that  the 
effect  is  produced,  we  begin  to  doubt  whether  any   causation 

exists  in  the  matter. 

If  there  be  anv  truth  in  the  foregoing  remarks,  they  would 
seem  to  had  us  to  the  following  conclusions: 

First,  that  every  branch  of  study  should  be  so  taught  as  to 
accomplish  both  the  results  of  Avhich  we  have  been  speaking; 
that  is,  that  it  should  not  only  increase  our  knowledge,  but  also 
confer  valuable  discipline;  and  that  it  should  not  only  confer 
valuable  discipline,  but  also  increase  our  knowledge ;  and  that, 
if  it  does  not  accomplish  both  of  these  results,  there  is  either 
some  defect  in  our  mode  of  teuching,  or  the  study  is  imperfectly 
adapted  to  the  purposes  of  education. 

Secondlv,  that  there  seems  no  good  reason  for  claiming  pre- 
eminence  for  one  study  over  another,  at  least  in  the  manner  to 
which  we  have  been  accustomed.  The  studies  merely  disciplir.- 
arv  have  valuable  practical  uses.  To  many  pursuits  they  are 
important,  and  to  some  indispensable.  Let  them,  then,  take 
their  proper  place  in  any  system  of  good  learning,  and  claim 
i.otliing  more  than  to  be  judged  of  by  their  results.     Let  them 


not  be  the  unmeaning  shibboleth  of  a  caste,  but,  standing  on  the 
same  level  with  all  other  intellectual  pursuits,  be  valued  exactly 
in  proportion  to  their  abilhy  to  increase  the  power  and  range 
and  skill  of  the  human  mind,  and  to  furnish  it  with  that  knowl- 
edge which  shall  most  signally  promote  the  well-being  and  hap- 
piness of  humanity. 

And,  thirdly,  it  w^ould  seem  that  our  Mhole  system  of  instruc- 
tion requires  an  honest,  thorough,  and  candid  revision.  It  has 
been  for  centuries  the  child  of  authority  and  precedent.  If  those 
before  us  made  it  what  it  is  by  applying  to  it  the  resources  of 
earnest  and  fearless  thought,  I  can  see  no  reason  why  we,  by 
pursuing  the  same  course,  might  not  improve  it.  God  intended 
us  for  progress,  and  w^e  counteract  his  design  when  we  deify  anti- 
quity, and  bow  down  and  worship  an  opinion,  not  because  it  is 
either  wise  or  true,  but  merely  because  it  is  ancient.^ 

Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.  Their 
chief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness  and  retiring;  for  ornament, 
is  in  discourse,  and  for  ability,  is  in  the  judgment  and  disposition 
of  business.  For  expert  men  can  execute,  and,  perhaps,  judge 
of  particulars,  one  by  one,  but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots 
and  marshaling  of  affairs,  come  best  from  those  that  are  learned. 
To  spend  too  much  time  in  studies  is  sloth  ;  to  use  them  too 
much  for  ornament,  is  affectation;  to  make  judgment  wholly  by 
their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar.  They  perfect  nature,  and 
are  perfected  by  experience.  .  .  .  Crafty  men  contemn  stud- 
ies, simple  men  admire  them,  and  wise  men  use  them,  for  they 
teach  not  their  own  use ;  Init  that  is  a  wisdom  without  them, 
and  above  them,  won  by  observation.  Read  not  to  contradict 
and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk 
and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider.  Some  books  are  to  be 
tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and 

^  Wayland. 


368 


MAN    AND   HI3   RELATIONS. 


digested ;  that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only  in  parts,  others 
tolje  read,  but  not  curiously,  and  some  few  to  be  read  wholly, 
and  with  diligence  and  attention.     .     .     .     If  a  man  write  little, 
he  had  need  have  a  great  memory  ;  if  he  confer  little,  he  had 
need  have  a  present  wit;  and  if  he  read  little,  he  had  need  have 
much  cunning,  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not.     Histories 
make  men  wise,  poets  witty,  the  mathematics  subtle,  natural  phi- 
losophy deep,  moral  grave,  logic  and  rhetoric  able  to  contend.' 
Books  and  Reading.— Books,  as  containing  the  finest  records 
of  human  wit,   must  always  enter  into  our  notion   of  culture. 
The  best  heads  that  ever  existed-Pcrieles,  Plato,  Julius  Ccesar, 
Shakespeare,  Goethe,  Milton-were  well-read,  universally  edu- 
cated men,  and  quite  too  wise  to  undervalue  letters.'' 

All  that  a  university  or  final  highest  .school  can  do  for  us  is 
still  but  what  the  first  sc^hool  began  doing— teach  us  to  read. 
We  learn  to  read  in  various  languages,  in  various  sciences;  we 
learn  the  alphabet  and  letters  of  all  manner  of  books.  But  the 
place  where  we  are  to  get  knowledge-even  theoretic  knowl- 
edge—is the  books  themselves.  It  depends  on  what  we  read, 
afttr  all  manner  of  professors  have  done  their  best  for  us.  The 
true  university  of  these  days  is  a  collection  of  books.' 

Books  are  the  best  of  things,  well  used  ;  abused,  among  the 
worst.  What  is  the  right  use?  What  is  the  one  end,  which  all 
means  go  to  effect?  They  are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire.  I  had 
better  never  see  a  book  than  to  be  warped  by  its  attraction  clean 
out  of  my  own  orbit,  and  made  a  satellite  instead  of  a  system. 
The  one  thing  in  the  world  of  value  is  the  active  soul.  .  .  . 
Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading,  so  it  be  sternly 
subordinated.  '  Man  Thinking  must  not  be  subdued  by  his  instru- 
ments. Books  are  for  the  scholar's  idle  times.  When  he  can 
read  God  directly,  the  hour  is  too  precious  to  be  wasted  iu  other 


1  Bacon. 


s  Emerson. 


'Carlyle. 


CULTURE. 


369 


men's  transcripts  of  their  readings.  But  when  the  intervals  pf 
darkness  come,  as  come  they  must — when  the  sun  is  hid,  and  the 
stars  withdraw  their  shining,  we  repair  to  the  lamps  which  Avere 
kindled  hy  their  ray  to  guide  our  steps  to  the  East  again,  where 
the  dawn  is.  We  hear,  that  Ave  may  speak.  The  Arabian 
j)roverb  says :  "  A  fig-tree,  looking  on  a  fig-tree,  becometh 
fruitful.''     .     .     . 

I  would  not  be  hurried  bv  any  love  of  svstem,  bv  any  exagc^er- 
ation  of  instinct.^,  to  underrate  the  Book.  We  all  kuow,  that, 
as  the  human  body  can  be  nourished  on  any  food,  thouixh  it 
^vere  boiled  grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes,  so  the  human  miud  can 
be  fed  by  any  knowledge.  And  great  and  heroic  men  have 
existed,  who  had  almost  no  other  information  than  by  the  printed 
page.  I  only  w^ould  say,  that  it  needs  a  strong  head  to  bear  that 
diet.  One  must  be  an  inventor  to  read  well.  As  the  proverb 
says :  '^  He  that  w-ould  bring  home  the  w^ealth  of  the  Indies, 
must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies."  There  is,  then,  cre- 
atiye  reading  as  well  as  creative  writing.  When  the  mind  is 
braced  by  labor  and  invention,  the  page  of  w-hatever  book  we 
read  becomes  luminous  w^ith  mauifold  allusion.  Every  sentence 
is  doubly  significant,  and  the  sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad  as 
the  world.  We  then  see,  what  is  always  true,  that,  as  the  seer's 
hour  of  vision  is  short  and  rare  amonjj:  heavy  days  and  months, 
so  is  its  record,  perchance,  the  least  part  of  his  volume.  The 
discerning  will  read,  in  his  Plato  or  Shakespeare,  only  that 
least  part  —  only  the  authentic  utterances  of  the  oracle;  all 
the  rest  he  rejects,  were  it  never  so  many  times  Plato's  and 
Shakespeare's. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  portion  of  reading  quite  indispensable  to 
a  wise  man.  History  and  exact  science  he  must  learn  by  labori- 
ous reading.     Colleges,  iu  like  manner,  have  their  indispensable 

25 


370 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


371 


office-to  teach  elements.  But  they  can  only  highly  serve  us 
when  they  aim,  not  to  drill,  but  to  create;  when  they  gather 
from  far  every  rav  of  various  genius  to  their  hospitable  halls, 
and,  by  the  concentrated  fires,  set  the  hearts  of  their  youth  on 
flame.  Thought  and  knowledge  are  natures  in  which  apparatus 
and  pretension  avail  nothing.  Gowns,  and  pecuniary  founda- 
tions, though  of  towns  of  gold,  can  never  countervail  the  least 
sentence  or  svllable  of  wit.^ 

The  worst^nfluence  of  books  is  seen  when,  instead  of  stimu- 
lating the  feelings  and  illuminating  the  perceptions  of  the  stu- 
dent,"thev  overlav,  befog,  and  soak  his  powers.     This  oftenest 
results  from  that  dawdling  habit  of  passive  reading  which  is  so 
.erious  and  so  common  a  waste.     Multitudes  of  persons  in  our 
dav  spend  a  considerable  share  of  their  time  in  turning  over  the 
pages  of  reviews,  magazines,  and  books,  listlessly  scanning  their 
contents,  with   no   girded  attention,  resolute  discrimination,  or 
patient  attempt  to  estimate  and  retain,  but  suffering  the  words  to 
make  such   impressions  as  they  can,  and  then,  for  the  greater 
part   pass  into  oblivion.     Under  the  dominion  of  such  a  habit, 
the  mind  tends  to  become  a  mere  muddle.     To  read  argumenta- 
tive works  in  this  way  demoralizes  the  faculties  of  the  intellect, 
and  to  read  sensational  works  so  debauches  the  emotions  of  the 
soul.     A  lazv  voluptuary  may  sleepily   observe   and  applaud  a 
company  of  athletes  at  their  gymnastic  fetes,  while  his  torpid 
habits  are  reducing  his  own  muscles  to  strings  of  jelly,  and  his 
connective  tissue  to  a  mush.     So,  the  reader  of  hooks  will  get 
little  good  from  them  unless  he  reproduces  by  the  positive  action 
of  his  own  fixculties  the  mental  processes  of  the  authors,  verify- 
in.  their  conclusions  for  himself,  and  assimilating  for  his  con- 
serous  growth  in  knowledge  and  power  whatever  nutritious  sub- 
stance they  contain.     The  most  cogent  inductions,  the  most  poetic 


pictures,  the  most  eloquent  appeals,  are  useless  if  the  pupils 
approach  them  with  reason  relaxed,  imagination  asleep,  and 
aSction  dead.  The  best  rule  for  profiting  from  books  is.  Read 
nothing  without  giving  the  alert  and  intent  life  of  the  mind  to 
the  work.^ 

The  clearest  and  most  imperative  duty  lies  on  every  one  of 
you  to  be  assiduous  in  your  reading ;  and  learn  to  be  good  read- 
ers, which  is,  perhaps,  a  more  difficult  thing  than  you  imagine. 
Learn  to  be  discriminative  in  your  reading — to  read  all  kinds  of 
things  that  you  have  an  interest  in,  and  that  ycu  find  to  be  really 
fit  for  what  you  are  engaged  in.  .  .  .  If  you  are  in  a  strait, 
a  very  good  indication  as  to  choice — perhaps  the  best  you  could 
get — is  a  book  you  have  a  great  curiosity  about.  You  are  then 
in  the  readiest  and  best  of  all  possible  conditions  to  improve  by 
that  book.  It  is  analogous  to  what  doctors  tell  us  about  the 
physical  health  and  appetites  of  the  patient.  You  must  learn  to 
distinguish  between  false  appetite  and  real.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  false  appetite,  which  will  lead  a  man  into  vagaries 
with  regard  to  diet,  will  tempt  him  to  eat  spicy  things  which  he 
should  not  eat  at  all,  and  would  not  but  that  it  is  toothsome,  and 
for  the  moment  in  baseness  of  mind.  A  man  ought  to  inquire 
and  find  out  what  he  really  and  truly  has  an  appetite  for — what 
suits  his  constitution,  and  that  doctors  tell  him  is  the  very  thing 
he  ought  to  have  in  general.     And  so  with  books.^ 

While  you  are  to  read  nothing  that  does  not  interest  you, 
something  besides  interest  must  decide  what  the  book  shall  be. 
If  the  interest  alwavs  coincided  with  what  is  best,  it  were  well 
indeed.;  but  pleasure  rarely  coincides  wholly  with  judgment. 
Therefore,  I  say,  read  what  is  best  for  vou,  what  will  teach  vou 
something  ;  read  to  know,  to  think  ;  but  you  must  also  be  inter- 
ested.    .     .     .     Read  for  general  culture.     As  one  studies  gram- 


1  Emerson. 


Alger. 


scarlyle. 


87-2 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


mar  for  correct  speech,  or  travels  to  learn  the  ^vays  of  the  ^vorU, 
or  min-lcs  in  society  for  polish,  so  one  ought  to  rea.1  for  a  cer- 
tain dress  and  decoration  of  the  mind.     It  is  not  creditable-it 
is  like  excessive  rusticity  in  manners  and  attire-to  lack  a  cer- 
tain knowledge  of  English  literature.     It  is  unkind  and  cmbar- 
rasMng  to  others  not  to  be  able  to  respond,  ^vith  some  degree  of 
intelligence,  to  what  they  assume  to  be  ^vell  known  by  all      I 
hardlv  know  how  vou  manage  it  when  the  young  lady,  fresh 
from  Yassar  or  Wellesley,  asks  you  which  of  Shakespeare's  plays 
you  most  admire.     I  can  assure  you  that  no  disquisition  upon 
Buffalo  Bill  will  blind  her  to  the  fiiet  that  you  are  unfam.l.ar 
with  Tlamlet.     To  this  end  of  simple  fitness  for  society  one  should 
read  parts,  at  least,  of  certain  authors.     It  will  not  be  amiss  to 
indicate  the  lowest  requirements,  especially  as  they  are  avauablc 
bv  all-a  part  of  Shakespeare's  plays:  "Hamlet,"  "Macbeth, 
-The   Tempest,"    "  The  Merchant  of  Venice,"    and    "  Julius 
C.e«ar  •"     Milton's  shorter  pocn>s  and    the  first  two   books  of 
"  Paradise  Lost ;"  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  ;"  Dr.  Johnson's  "  Lives 
of  the  Poets;"  the  poems  of  Goldsmith  ;  Lamb's  essays  ;  Burns; 
Wordsworth's  balhuls,  sonnets,  a.ul    "  Ode  on   Immortality ;" 
parts  of  Bvron's  "  Childe  Harohl ;"  a  few  of  the  shorter  poems 
of  Coleridge,  Shellev.  Keats,  and  Cowper;  four  or  five  of  Scott's 
novels;  some  of  the  essays  of  Macaulay  and  Dc  Quiucey  ;  Ten- 
nvson,  Mrs.  Browning,  and  Buskin  in  part;  some  history,  or 
of  En<.land-Knight's  or  Green's;  the  one  or  two  best  works  of 
the  greater  novelists;    some   definite    knowledge  of  our   own 
authors-Irving,  Cooper,  Hawthorne,  Prcscott,  Motley,  Bancroft, 
Mrs.  Stowe,  Emerson  in  "  English  Traits,"  and  our  five  great 
poets.     So   mnch  we   need  to   read   before  our  minds  are  well 
enough  attired  for  good  society ;  otherwise  we  must  appear  m 
intellectual  corduroy  and  cow-skiu. 


CULTURE. 


373 


Bead  somewhat  in  the  way  of  discipline.  This  may  take  you 
in  a  direction  contrary  to  your  tastes.  You  arc  doubtless  fond 
of  the  novel,  but  it  is  not  enough  to  say,  I  will  read  only  sucli 
as  arc  good.  You  require  another  kind  of  book — an  essay,  a 
treatise,  a  review  article,  a  history,  or  biography — something 
that  may  not  win  attention,  whicii,  therefore,  you  must  gkc. 
The  chief,  if  not  onlj'  value,  of  mathematics  as  a  discipline  lies 
in  its  cultivation  of  the  habit  of  attention;  close  consecutive 
thought  held  to  its  work  by  the  will.  I  do  not  see  why  the  same 
end  mav  not  be  reached  bv  reading,  if  it  is  done  in  this  wav  of 
attending — .stretching  the  mind  over  the  subject  so  as  wholly  to 
cover  and  embrace  it.  When  one  reads  out  of  mere  interest, 
and  without  exercise  of  the  will,  the  mind  gets  flabby.  There 
can  be  no  strenii:th  where  there  is  no  will.  The  omnivorous 
reader  is  often  weak  and  essentially  ignorant.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  being  the  slave  of  books;  true  reading  implies  mastery.^ 

Bead  systematicaUy.  I  mean  by  this,  do  not  take  up  and  read 
any  books  merely  because  they  chance  to  fall  in  your  way.  You 
see  on  your  neighbor's  table  a  book  which  looks  as  if  it  was 
interesting,  as  you  say,  and  you  think  you  would  like  to  read  it. 
You  borrow  it — carry  it  home — and  at  some  convenient  time 
you  begin.  You  soon,  however,  either  from  taking  it  up  at  a 
time  when  you  were  interested  in  something  else,  or  from  being 
frequently  interrupted,  or  perhaps  from  the  character  of  the 
book,  find  it  rather  dull ;  and,  after  wasting  a  few  hours  upon 
the  first  fifty  pages,  you  tumble  over  the  remainder  of  the  leaves, 
and  then  send  the  book  home.  After  a  few  days  more,  you  find 
some  other  book  by  a  similar  accident,  and  pursue  the  same 
course.  Such  a  method  of  attempting  to  acquire  knowledge 
from  books  will  only  dissipate  the  mind,  destroy  all  habits  of 
accurate  thinking,  and  unfit  you  for  any  intellectual  progress. 

1  Munger. 


k. 


0/4 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


375 


But  you  nuist  not  go  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  drawing  up 
for  yourself  a  set  of  rules  and  a  system  of  reading  full  enougrli 
to  occupy  you  for  years,  and  tiien  begin  upon  that  with  the 
determination  of  confining  yourself,  at  all  hazards,  rigidly 
to  it.     .     .     . 

Systematic  reading  requires,  too,  that  you  should  secure  variety 
in  your  books.  Look  oyer  the  departments  of  himian  knowl- 
edge, and  see  that  your  plan  is  so  formed  that  it  will  glye  you 
some  knowledge  of  them  all.  In  regard  to  the  precise  time  and 
manner  in  which  you  shall  fill  up  the  details,  it  is  undoubtedly 
best  not  to  form  any  exact  plan.  It  is  better  to  leaye  such  to  be 
decided  l)y  circumstances,  and  eyen  by  your  inclinations,  from 
time  to  time.  You  will  enter  with  more  spirit  and  success  into 
the  prosecution  of  any  in(|uiry  if  you  engage  in  it  at  a  time 
when  it  seems  allurin<j:  and  interestinj;  to  you. 

Read  thoroufjhJy.  Ayoid  getting  into  the  habit  of  going  oyer 
the  page  in  a  listless  and  mechanical  manner.  Make  an  effort 
to  penetrate  to  the  full  meaning  of  your  author,  and  think 
patiently  of  eyery  difficult  passage  until  you  understand  it ;  or, 
if  it  baffles  your  unassisted  efforts,  haye  it  explained.  Reading 
thoroughly  requires  also  that  you  should  make  yourself  ac- 
quainted with  all  those  attendant  circumstances  which  enable 
you  the  more  fully  to  understand  the  author's  meaning.  Exam- 
ine carefully  the  title  page  and  preface  of  eyery  book  you  read, 
that  you  may  learn  who  wrote  it,  where  it  was  written,  and  what 
it  was  written  for.  Haye  at  hand,  if  possible,  such  helps  as 
maps  and  a  gazetteer  and  a  biographical  dictionary.  Be  careful, 
then,  to  find  upon  the  map  eyery  place  mentioned,  and  learn 
from  the  gazetteer  what  sort  of  place  it  is.  If  an  allusion  is 
made  to  anv  circumstances  in  the  life  of  an  eminent  man,  or  in 
public  history,  investigate  the  allusion  by  books  or  by  inquiry, 


•4 


so  as  to  fully  understand  it.  If  possible,  find  other  accounts  of 
the  transactions  which  your  author  is  describing,  and  compare 
one  with  another — reflect  upon  the  dilTcrences  in  the  statements, 
and  endeayor  to  ascertain  the  truth.  Such  a  mode  of  reading  as 
this  is  a  yery  slow  way  of  getting  oyer  the  pages  of  a  book,  but 
it  is  a  yery  rapid  way  of  acquiring  knowledge. 

Do  not  often  iindertahe  to  redd  extensive  works,  A  young  per- 
son will  sometimes  commence  some  extensiye  work,  beginning 
it  with  no  calculation  of  the  time  which  will  be  required  to  com- 
plete it,  and,  in  fact,  with  no  definite  plan  whateyer.  Such  an 
undertaking  is  almost  always  a  failure.  Any  mind  under  twenty 
years  of  age  will  get  wearied  out  again  and  again  in  going 
throuo-h  a  dozen  octayo  yolumes  on  any  subject  whatever.  There 
is  no  objection  to  reading  such  works,  but  let  it  be  in  detached 
portions  at  a  time.  Select,  for  instance,  from  some  approved  his- 
tory of  England,  the  reign  of  some  one  monarch — Elizabeth, 
Alfred — or  make  choice  of  such  a  subject  as  the  Crusades,  or  the 
life  of  Miry  Queen  of  Sc;)ts,  and  mark  off  such  a  portion  of  the 
whole  work  as  shall  relate  to  the  topic  thus  chosen.  This  can 
be  easily  done,  and  wdth  no  greater  difficulty,  on  account  of  its 
compelling  the  reader  to  begin  in  the  middle  of  the  history,  than 
must  always  be  felt  in  reading  history.  If  you  begin  at  the 
beginning  of  a  work,  and  go  regularly  through  to  the  end,  you 
will  find  a  thousand  cases  in  which  the  narrative  you  read  is 
connected  with  other  histories  in  such  a  way  as  to  demand  the 
same  effort  to  understand  the  connection  which  will  be  necessary 
in  the  course  I  have  proposed.     .     .     . 

It  is  sometimes  the  case  that  young  persons,  when  they  meet 
anything  remarkable  in  the  course  of  their  reading,  transerihe  it, 
with  the  expectation  of  referring  to  their  copy  afterwards  to 
refresh  their  memories,  and  thus,  after  a  while,  they  get  their 


k 


376 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


desks  very  full  of  knowledge,  while  very  little  remains  dn  the 
head.  Now,  it  ought  to  be  remembered  that  knowledge  is  of  no 
value,  or,  at  least,  of  scarcely  any,  unless  it  is  fairly  lodged  in 
the  mind,  and  so  digested,  as  I  have  before  shown,  as  to  become 
a  permanent  possession.  Now,  if  transcribing  and  writing  notes 
and  abstracts  of  wliat  you  read  is  made  the  means  of  fixing  thus 
firmly  in  the  mind  your  various  acquisitions,  it  is  of  immense 
value;  if  made  the  substitule  for  it,  it  is  worse  than  useless.  It 
mav  be  a  most  powerful  means,  as  any  one  may  prove  to  himself 
by  the  following  oxperimont : 

Read  sonic  l.istory  in  the  ordinary  way,  without  the  use  of  the 
pen,  with  the  exception  that  you  select  some  chapter  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  work  with  which  you  may  try  the  experiment  of  an 
abstract.     After  having  read  it  attentively,  shut  the  book  and 
write  the  substance  of  the  narrative  it  contains.     The  more  you 
deviate   in   style    and   language    from    your  author   the   better, 
because,  bv  such  a  deviation,  you  employ  more  your  own  original 
resources.'vou  reduce  the  knowledge  you  have  gained  to  a  form 
adapted  to'  your  own  habits  of  thought,  and  you  consequently 
make  it  more  fully  your  own,  and  fix  it  more  indelibly  in  the 
mind.     After  finishing  the  abstract  of  that  chapter,  go  on  with 
the  remainder  of  the  book  in  the  usual  way  by  simply  reading  it 
attentivelv.     You  will  find  now,  if  you  carefully  try  this  experi- 
ment, that  the  chapter  which  yon  have  thus  treated  will,  for 
many  vears,  stand  out  most  conspicuous  of  all  in  your  rccoUcc- 
tlous  of  the  work.     The  facts  which   it  has  stated  will  retain  a 
lodging  in  your  minds  when  all  the  rest  are  forgotten,  an<l  they 
will  come  up,  when  wanted  for  use,  with  a  readiness  which  ^vill 
show  how  eritirely  you  made  them  your  own.' 

If  we  consider  what  arc  the  objects  men  pursue,  when  con- 
scious of  anv  object  ut  all.  in  reading,  they  are  these :  amuse- 


1  Abbott. 


CULTURE. 


377 


ment,  instruction,  a  wish  to  appear  well  in  society,  and  a  desire 
to  pass  away  time.  Now,  even  the  lowest  of  these  objects  is 
facilitated  by  reading  with  method.  The  keenness  of  pursuit 
thus  engendered  enriches  the  most  trifling  gain,  takes  away  the 
sense  of  dullness  in  details,  and  gives  an  interest  to  what  would 
otherwise  be  most  repugnant.  No  one  who  has  never  known 
the  eager  joy  of  some  intellectual  pursuit  can  understand  the  full 
pleasure  of  reading.     .     .     . 

There  is  another  view  of  reading,  which,  though  it  is  obvious 
enough,  is  seldom  taken,  I  imagine,  or  at  least  acted  upon ;  and 
that  is,  that  in  the  course  of  our  reading,  we  should  lay  np  in 
our  minds  a  store  of  goodly  thoughts  in  well-wTought  words, 
which  should  be  a  living  treasure  of  knowledge  always  with  us, 
and  from  Avhich  at  various  times,  and  amidst  all  the  shifting  of 
circumstances,  we  might  be  sure  of  drawing  some  comfort,  guid- 
ance, and  sympathy.  We  see  this  with  regard  to  the  sacred 
writings.  "A  word  spoken  in  due  season,  how  good  is  it!" 
But  there  is  a  similar  comfort  on  a  lower  level  to  be  obtained 
from  other  sources  than  sacred  ones.  In  any  work  that  is  worth 
carefully  reading,  there  is  generally  something  that  is  worth 
remembering  accurately.  A  man  whose  mind  is  enriched  with 
the  best  sayings  of  the  poets  of  his  own  country,  is  a  more  inde- 
pendent man,  walks  the  streets  in  a  town,  or  the  lanes  in  the 
countrv,  with  far  more  delight  than  he  otherwise  would  have ; 
and  is  taught,  by  wise  observers  of  man  and  nature,  to  examine 
for  himself.  Sancho  Panza  with  his  proverbs  is  a  great  deal 
better  than  ho  w^ould  have  been  without  them  :  and  I  contend 
that  a  man  has  something  in  himself  to  meet  troubles  and  diffi- 
culties, small  or  great,  who  has  stored  in  his  mind  some  of  the 
best  things  which  have  been  said  about  troubles  and  difficulties. 
Moreover,  the  loneliness  of  sorrow  is  thereby  diminished. 


378 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


It  need  not  be  feared  that  a  man  whose  memory  is  rich  in  such 
resources,  will  become  a  quoting  pedant.  Often,  the  sayings 
which  are  dearest  to  our  hearts,  are  least  frequent  on  our  lips; 
and  tho^e  great  ideas  which  cheer  men  in  their  direst  struggles, 
are  not  things  which  they  are  likely  to  inflict  by  frequent  repe- 
tition upon  those  they  live  with.  There  is  a  certain  reticence 
with  us  as  regards  anything  we  deeply  love. 

I  have    not    hitherto   spoken    of   the    indirect   advantage  of 
methodical  reading    in  the  culture  of  the   mind.     One   of  the 
dangers  supposed  to  be   incident  upon  a  life  of  study  is,  that 
purpose  and  decisiveness  are  worn  away.     Not,  as  I  contend, 
upon  a  life  of  study,  such  as  it  ought   to  be.     For,   pursued 
methodically,  there  must  be  some,  and  not  a  little,  of  the  decis- 
ion, resistance,  and  tenacity  of  pursuit  which  create,  or  further, 
greatness  of  character  in  action.     Though,  as  I  have  said,  there 
are  times  of  keen  delight  to  a  man  who  is  engaged  in  any  dis- 
tinct pursuit,  there  are  also  moments  of  weariness,  vexation,  and 
vacillation,  which  will  try  the  metal  in  him  and  see  whether  he 
is  worthy  to  understand  and   master  anything.     For  this  you 
mav  observe,  that  in  all  times  and  all  nations,  sacrifice  is  needed. 
The  savage  Indian  who  was  to  obtain  any  insight  into  the  future, 
had  to  starve  for  it  for  a  certain  time.     Even  the  fancy  of  this 
power  was  not  to  be  gained  without  paying  for  it.     And  was 
anvthino-  real  ever  gained  without  sacrifice  of  some  kind? 

There  is  a  very  refined  use  which  reading  might  be  put  to— 
namely,  to  counteract  the  particular  evils  and  temptations  of  our 
callings,  the  original  imperfections  of  our  characters,  the  tenden- 
cies of  our  age,  or  of  our  own  time  of  life.  Those,  for  instance, 
who  are  versed  in  dull  crabbed  work  all  day,  of  a  kind  which  is 
always  exercising  the  logical  faculty  and  demanding  minute,  not 
to  say  vexatious  criticism,  would,  during  their  leisure,  do  wisely 


CULTURE. 


379 


to  expatiate  in  writings  of  a  large  and  imaginative  nature. 
These,  however,  are  often  the  persons  who  particularly  avoid 
poetry  and  works  of  imagination,  whereas  they  ought,  perhaps, 
to  cultivate  them  most.  For  it  should  be  one  of  the  frequent 
objects  of  every  man  who  cares  for  the  culture  of  his  whole 
beincr,  to  ffive  some  exercise  to  those  faculties  which  are  not 
demanded  by  his  daily  occupations  and  not  encouraged  by  his 
disposition.^ 

Life  being  very  short,  and  the  quiet  hours  of  it  few,  we  ought 
to  waste  none  of  them  in  reading  valueless  books;  and  valuable 
books  should,  in  a  civilized  country,  be  within  the  reach  of 
every  one,  printed  in  excellent  form,  for  a  just  price ;  but  not  in 
any  vile,  vulgar,  or,  by  reason  of  smallness  of  type,  physically 
injurious  form,  at  a  vile  price.  For  we  none  of  us  need  many 
books,  and  those  which  we  need  ought  to  be  clearly  printed  on 
the  best  paper,  and  strongly  bound. 

I  would  urge  upon  every  young  woman  to  obtain  as  soon  as 
she  can,  by  the  severest  economy,  a  restricted,  serviceable,  and 
steadilv — however  slowlv — increasing  series  of  books  for  use 
through  life;  making  her  little  library,  of  all  the  furniture 
in  her  room,  the  most  studied  and  decorative  piece,  every 
volume    having    its    assigned    place,  like    a    little   statue  in  its 

niche.^ 

If  there  were  to  be  any  difference  between  a  girl's  education 
and  a  boy's,  I  should  say  that  of  the  two  the  girl  should  be  ear- 
lier led,  as  her  intellect  ripens  faster,  into  deep  and  serious  sub- 
jects ;  and  that  her  range  of  literature  should  be,  not  more,  but 
less,  frivolous,  calculated  to  add  the  qualities  of  patience  and 
seriousness  to  her  natural  poignancy  of  thought  and  quickness 
of  w^it;  and  also  to  keep  her  in  a  lofty  and  pure  element  of 
thought.     I  enter  not  now  into  any  question  of  choice  of  books ; 


Helps. 


2  Ruskin. 


380 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


881 


P 


only  be  sure  that  her  books  are  not  heaped  up  in  her  lap  as  they 
fall  out  of  the  package  of  the  circulating  library,  wet  with  the 
last  and  lightest  spray  of  the  fountain  of  folly .^ 

Keading  suitable  books  stores  the  mind  with  facts  and  princi- 
ples; reflection  converts  those  facts  and  principles  into  a  real 
mental  aliment,  and  thus  quickens  the  soul  into  growth  ;  while 
writing  tends  to  precisiou  of  thought  and  beauty  of  expression. 
Every  young  lady  should,  therefore,  read  much,  reflect  more,  and 
write  as  frequently  and  carefully  as  she  has  opportunity.^ 

Novels. — We  find  almost  the  whole  world  engaged  in  novel- 
reading.  Many  of  the  wise  and  good  shake  their  heads  over  it. 
Careful  and  conscientious  parents  place  fiction  under  ban  in 
their  households.  The  pulpit  fulminates  against  it,  even  if  the 
church  fail  in  terms  to  proscribe  it.  Signal  instances  of  its  sad 
effects  upon  the  mind  and  the  morals  are  portrayed  in  the  issues 
of  the  Tract  Society,  but  still  the  reading  goes  on;  and  from  one 
to  one  hundred  editions  of  every  work  find  buyers  and  readers. 
If  the  novel  is  not  read  openly,  it  is  read  in  secret ;  if  not  by 
sun-light,  by  gas-light ;  if  not  in  the  house,  or  under  genial 
sanction,  then  in  the  barn,  or  under  a  green  tree.  Why  all  this 
swallowing  of  so  much  that  is  trash?  Why  this  almost  indis- 
criminate devotion  to  worth  and  worthlessness  ?  Is  this  all 
from  a  debased  or  morbid  appetite?  By  no  means.  You  will 
find  the  high  and  the  low  all  agreed  upon  a  work  of  fiction  from 
the  pen  of  genuine  genius,  true  to  its  mission.  !Mr.  Dickens  and 
Mrs.  Stowe  will  have  the  most  convenient  shelf  of  the  library 
of  him  who  reads  ''  The  Devil's  Darning  Needle :  a  Tale  of 
Love,  Madness,  and  Suicide,"  as  well  as  that  of  the  man  of  high 
and  chastened  tastes. 

Life !  Life  !     This  is  the  cry  of  the  multitude— life,  true  and 
chaste  and  beautiful — life  that  shall  nourish  and  enrich  us,  if 


» Ibid. 


2  Rev.  Daniel  Wise. 


we  can  get  it,  but  life  of  some  kind— life  of  any  kind— rather 

than  none.^ 

So  universally  accepted  is  the  novel  that  it  has  become  one  of 
the  favorite  instruments  of  reform.  If  a  great  wrong  is  to  be 
rio-hted,  the  sentiments,  convictions,  and  efforts  of  the  people 
are  directed  against  it  through  the  means  of  a  novel.  It  is 
mi<^htier  to  this  end  than  conventions,  speeches,  editorials,  and 
popular  rebellions.  If  a  social  iniquity  is  to  be  uncovered  that 
it  may  be  cured,  the  pen  of  the  novelist  is  the  power  employed. 
The  adventurer,  the  drunkard,  the  libertine,  the  devotee  of  fash- 
ion and  f  )lly,  are  all  punctured  and  impaled  by  the  same  instru- 
ment, and  held  up  to  the  condemnation  or  contempt  of  the 
world.  At  the  same  time,  we  are  compelled  to  look  to  our 
novels  rather  than  to  our  histories  and  biographies  for  our 
finest  and  purest  idealizations  of  human  character  and  human 
societv.  There  is  nothing  more  real  and  nothing  more  in- 
spiring  in  all  history  and  cognate  literature  than  the  characters 
which  fiction,  by  the  hands  of  its  masters,  has  presented  to  the 

world. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  church  was  afraid  of  the  novel ; 
and  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  there  are  bad  novels— novels 
which  ought  not  to  be  read,  and  which  are  read  simply  because 
there  are  people  as  bad  as  the  novels  are — but  the  church  itself 
is  now  the  most  industrious  producer  of  the  novel.  It  is  found 
next  to  impossible  to  induce  a  child  to  read  anything  but  stories, 
and  therefore  the  shelves  of  our  Sunday-school  libraries  are  full 
of  them.  These  stories  might  be  better,  yet  they  undoubtedly 
contain  the  best  presentation  of  religious  truth  that  has  been 
made  to  the  infantile  mind.  The  pictures  of  character  and  life 
that  are  to  be  found  in  a  multitude  of  these  books  can  not  fail 
of  giving  direction  and  inspiration  to  those  for  whom  they  are 

1  Holland. 


382 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


painted.  Among  much  that  is  silly  and  preposterous  and  dissi- 
pating, there  is  an  abundance  that  is  ^vholesome  and  supremely 
valuable.  Religious  novels,  too,  have  become  a  large  and  toler- 
ably distinct  class  of  books,  of  very  wide  acceptance  and  useful- 
ness in  the  hands  of  men  and  women.  The  church,  least  of  all 
estates,  perhaps,  could  now  afford  to  dispense  with  the  novel, 
because  it  is  found  that  the  novel  will  be  produced  and  univer- 
sally consumed.^ 

After  biography,  no  reading  can  be  made  more  profitable,  if 
the  substructure  of  education  has  been  attended  to,  than  novels. 
Of  course,  thev  must  be  read  for  something  beyond  sensations — 
as  products  of  art  and  of  thought. 

A  librarv  of  novels  is  like  a  gallery  of  pictures.     One  man 
saunters  through  the  gallery  and  sees    what   the    pictures  are 
about— one  is  a  battle-piece,  one  a  sunset  in  Italy,  one  a  love 
scene,  one  a  Madonna,  one  a  mountain  range,  one  a  sea-storm. 
Another  man  goes  through  the  gallery,  sits  before  the  chief  pic- 
tures, and  sees  what  the  artists  were  about— what  is  the  range 
of  the  powers  of  each,  the  degrees  of  their  technical  skill,  and 
the  directions  in  which  they  lie  open  to  the  Infinite.     The  first 
man  sees  the  paint— all  of  it ;  the  second  man  sees  the  paintings. 
The  first  has  whiled  away  an  hour,  and  had  a  sensation ;  the  last 
has  enjoyed  himself  intelligently,  and  fed  his  mind.     Novels— 
good  ones— have  all  the  range  and  all  the  characteristics  of  the 
higher  classes  of  paintings— color,  tone,  grouping,  precision  of 
drawing,  perspective,  and  the  quality  of  the  lesson,  or  the  eleva- 
tion of  spirit,  that  looks  out  through  all.     And  when  read  with 
one  eve  to  the  storv  (the  left  eye)  and  the  other  (the  right)  to 
the  art  of  the  book,  the  pleasure  is  intellectually  as  profitable  as 
it  is  noble.     .     .     .     What  is  more  dreary  than  moral  philoso- 
phy, or  the  abstract  discussion  of  questions  of  ethics  bearing  on 


1  Ibid. 


CULTURE. 


383 


the  grades  of  sentiments  and  conflicts  of  duties?  But  no  ques- 
tion was  ever  raised,  possibly,  by  the  acutest  casuist  which  has 
not  been  set  at  work,  vitally  and  dramatically,  in  some  modern 
novel.  And  if  all  novel-readers  were  compelled,  when  they 
close  a  book,  to  write  out  the  main  doctrine  or  proposition  which 
is  the  axis  of  the  incidents  and  plot,  it  would  be  better  for  their 
moral  education  than  if  they  could  listen  once  a  week  to  the  best 
lecture  on  ethics  that  is  delivered  by  the  foremost  professor  in 
civilization. 

One  of  the  most  practical,  impressive,  and  strong-headed  preach- 
ers in  this  countrv  is  a  constant  student  of  novels.  They  are  the 
staple  of  his  reading.  They  furnish  him  with  a  museum  of  char- 
acters, and  with  revelations  of  the  status  and  needs  of  modern 
society  which  no  other  reading  could  furnish.  He  sees  the  world, 
he  tastes  life,  bv  means  of  them,  as  we  all  may  if  we  will  approach 
them  fi)r  something  besides  their  pepper  and  salt,  for  what  their 
condiments  merely  flavor.  And  I  have  often  thought  that  the 
pulpit  could  not  do  better,  with  one  sermon  in  every  quarter, 
than  by  preaching  on  the  health  or  disease  of  the  most  prominent 
novel  which  all  parishioners  are  reading,  and  showing  wherein 
and  how  far  its  main  characters  illustrate  or  reject  the  spirit  of 
life  which  glows  through  the  incidents  of  the  four  Gospels  from 
"  the  Word  made  flesh.''  ^ 

Not  to  read  Fiction  now^-a-days  would  be  to  make  a  vow  of 
ignorance,  and  count  reading  heretical.  Imaginative  literature 
never  had  so  wide  or  so  beneficent  a  reign.  It  is  multiplying 
readers  immensely,  and  supplying  them  with  an  infinite  variety 
of  healthful  food.  The  greatest  trouble  is  lest  the  appetite 
should  grow  tyrannical,  and  refuse  anything  in  other  forms. 
.  .  .  Mere  foolish  readers,  who  fly  from  novel  to  novel,  good, 
bad,   or  indifferent,  whose  only  thought  is  amusement,   forget 


King, 


384 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


what  Is  due  to  themselves,  and  dissipate  what  powers  they  have. 
Coleridge  was  right  in  saying  tliat  this  unsettledness  and  dislike 
of  real  mental  work  was  one  of  the  greatest  evils  of  excessive 
liking  for  light  reading.  Make  the  Novel  an  indulgence,  not  a 
pursuit ;  turn  to  it  as  a  rest  after  work,  not  in  place  of  conscien- 
tious industrv,  and  read  only  the  best.^ 

AVould  vou  admit  a  thief  to  your  cabinet  of  jewels?     Would 
you  invite  a  base  profligate  to  your  society?     Nay.     The  ques- 
tion itself  pains  you.     Pardon  me,  lady;  I  would  not  willingly 
inflict  the  slightest  wound  on  your  spirit,  but  I  must  deal  frankly 
with  you,  or  forfeit  mv  claims  of  friendship.     Hearken,  there- 
fore    to   mv  statement.     If  you  are  an   indiscriminaiing  novel 
reader,  you  admit  both  thieves  and  profligates,  not  merely  to 
vour  society,  but  to  vour  most  intimate  companionship— yea, 
into  the  palace  of  your  soul.     Novels  rob  you  of  a  higher  pleas- 
ure than  thev  afford,  since  the  same  attention-  to  solid  reading 
would  procure  you  a  loftier,  purer  pleasure;    hence,   they  are 
thieves  who   rob  you  of  real   delight.      Then,   what  are  their 
heroes,  chiefly,  but  villains,  robbers,  profligates,  and  murderers? 
These  vou  take  to  vour  fellowship,  listen  to  their  language,  grow 
interested  in   their  adventures,  and   imbibe   a  portion  of  their 
spirit ;  for  all  this  is  necessarily  implied  in  the  devotion  with 
which  your  tossed  and  excited  mind  follows  them  in  the  wind- 
ino-s  of  their  history.     Can   vour  soul  be  a  bright  mirror,  in 
which  none  but  pure  images  are  reflected,  after  such  reading? 
Can   they  leave  you  wholly  free   from  sympathy  with    impure 
thought?      Can  you  escape    contamination?      Nay.      As    soon 
mio-ht  the  mirror  be  undimmed  in  the  densest  fog,  or  a  person 
walk  undefiled  through  an  overflowing  ditch.^ 

Kead  but  few  novels,  and  with  carefulest  selection,  and    at 
decided  intervals  of  time.     I  would  have  two  objects  in  view, 


Geikie. 


a  Wise. 


CULTURE. 


38.5 


varying  them  according  to  the  end,  namely,  amusement  and 
knowledge  of  life. 

Every  hard  worker  is  entitled  to  a  holiday  now  and  then. 
Treat  yourself  to  a  novel  as  you  take  a  jdeasure  trip,  and,  be- 
cause you  do  it  rarely,  let  it  be  a  good  one.  We  have  a  friend 
who  prays  that  his  life  may  be  spared  till  he  has  read  all  of  the 
Waverley,  for  he  will  not  dull  his  interest  in  one  by  soon  taking 
up  another.  Having  selected  your  novel  with  something  of  the 
care  you  would  choose  a  wife,  give  yourself  up  to  It ;  lend  to  its 
fancy  the  wings  of  your  own  imagination,  revel  in  it  Avithout 
restraint ;  drink  Its  wine ;  keep  step  with  its  passion ;  float  on 
its  tide,  whether  it  glides  serenely  to  happy  ends,  or  sweeps  dark 
and  tumultuous  to  tragic  destinies. 

Such  reading  is  not  only  a  fine  recreation,  but  of  highest  value, 
especially  to  business  men.  It  cultivates  what  the  American 
lacks  by  nature,  and  doubly  lacks  through  social  atmosphere — 
namely,  sentiment;  by  which  I  mean  responsiveness  to  the  higher 
and  finer  truths. 

But  the  main  use  of  the  novel  Is  to  unfold  character  and 
society  ;  this  Is  its  vocation — to  depict  life.  It  may  be  historical, 
domestic,  social,  psychological,  political,  or  religious,  but  its 
theme  Is  life.  Its  value  consists  In  the  fidelity  of  the  picture 
and  the  literary  charm  with  which  it  is  invested.  When  I  read 
a  novel  of  Thackeray  my  knowledge  of  man  Is  increased.  I  get 
broader  views  of  humanity.  I  see  what  a  wide,  deep,  complex 
thing  life  is.  Hence  I  will  read  no  novels  but  the  best,  since 
they  alone  can  show  me  life  as  it  is ;  and  above  all  things  I  must 
not  think  of  life  falsely.  We  might  live  virtuously  while  hold- 
ing that  the  world  Is  flat,  but  not  If  we  were  deceived  as  to  the 
shape    and    proportions    of    man.       Ptolemaic    astronomy    were 

better  than  unnatural  fiction. 
26 


386 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


387 


If  vou  ask  who  those  best  novelists  are,  I  will  venture  to 
name  those  who,  at  least,  head  the  column.  Pardon  the  dry 
list :  Scott,  Cooper,  Thackeray,  Mrs.  Stowe,  Dickens,  ''  George 
Eliot,''  Hawthorne,  Mac  Donald,  Miss  Bronte,  Miss  Edgcworth, 
Mrs.  AVhitney,  Jane  xVusten,  Bulwer,  Lever,  Mrs.  Trollope, 
Charles  Kinffslev,  Black,  Howells,  Blackmorc ;  of  foreign  au- 
thors,  A^ictor  Hugo,  Auerbach,  Buffini,  and  Ebers.^ 

With  respect  to  that  sore  temptation  of  novel-reading,  it  is 
not  the  badness  of  a  novel  that  we  should  dread,  but  its  over- 
wrouf^ht  interest.  The  weakest  romance  is  not  so  stupefying  as 
the  lower  forms  of  religious  exciting  literature,  and  the  worst 
romance  is  not  so  corrupting  as  flilse  history,  false  philosophy, 
or  fl\lse  political  essays.  But  the  best  romance  becomes  danger- 
ous, if,  bv  its  excitement,  it  renders  the  ordinary  course  of  life 
uninteresting,  and  increases  the  morbid  thirst  for  useless  ac- 
quaintance with  scenes  in  which  we  shall  never  be  called  upon 

to  act. 

I  speak,  therefore,  of  good  novels  only;  and  our  modern 
literature  is  particularly  rich  in  types  of  such.  Well  read, 
indeed,  these  books  have  serious  use,  being  nothing  less  than 
treatises  on  moral  anatomy  and  chemistry;  studies  of  human 
nature  in  the  elements  of  it.  But  I  attach  little  weight  to  this 
function ;  they  are  hardly  ever  read  with  earnestness  enough  to 
permit  them  to  fulfill  it.^ 

NewspapePwS. — What  of  newspapers  and  magazines?  Read 
the  former  as  a  matter  of  business  and  necessity,  and  expect  no 
advantage  from  them  except  as  they  report  to  you  current 
events.  I  must  know  what  is  going  on  in  the  world ;  I  buy  the 
newspaper  to  tell  me,  and  for  no  other  reason.  If  the  keen-eyed 
editor  puts  a  few  of  the  events  together,  and  says  they  point  in 
this  or  that  direction,  I  thank  him,  but  keep  a  lookout  for  my- 


Munger. 


2  Ruskin. 


self.  I  ask  of  him  chieflv  facts,  events,  the  dailv  historv  of  the 
globe.  As  a  mental  discipline,  the  reading  of  newspapers  is 
hurtful.  What  can  be  worse  for  the  mind  than  to  think  of  fortv 
things  in  ten  minutes?  It  is  commonly  understood  that  the 
great  editors  pursue  a  definite  course  of  continuous  studv  for  the 
sake  of  mental  integrity,  and  as  a  defense  against  the  dissipation 
of  their  dailv  work. 

Magazines,  the  monthlies  and  quarterlies,  fall  into  a  different 
category.  They  often  contain  solid  and  thorough  pieces  of 
thought  and  information,  and  arc  the  channels  of  much  of  the 
best  current  literature.  But  beware  of  the  maii:azine  storv, 
except  it  be  from  a  master ;  and  as  for  serials — to  read  a  good 
story  thus  is  a  self-inflicted  cruelty.^ 

Next  to  the  Bible,  the  newspaper — swift-winged,  and  everv- 
where  present,  flying  over  the  fences,  shoved  under  the  door, 
tossed  into  the  counting-house,  laid  on  the  work-bench,  hawked 
through  the  cars  !  All  read  it :  white  and  black,  German,  Irish- 
man, Swiss,  Spaniard,  American,  old  and  young,  good  and  bad, 
sick  and  well,  before  breakfast  and  after  tea,  Mondav  morninjj:, 
Saturday  night,  Sunday  and  week  day  ! 

I  now  declare  that  I  consider  the  newspaper  to  be  the  grand 
agency  by  which  the  Gosjjel  is  to  be  preached,  ignoran(;e  cast 
out,  oppression  dethroned,  crime  extirpated,  the  world  raised, 
heaven  rejoiced,  and  God  glorified. 

In  the  clanking  of  the  j^rinting-press,  as  the  sheets  fly  out,  I 
hear  the  voice  of  the  Lord  Almighty  j)roclaiming  to  all  the  dead 
nations  of  the  earth  :  ^^  Lazarus,  come  forth!''  And  to  the  re- 
treating surges  of  darkness  :  ^'  Let  there  be  light !''  In  many 
of  our  city  newspapers  professing  no  more  than  secular  infor- 
mation there  have  apjjeared,  during  the  past  ten  years,  some  of 
the  grandest  appeals  in  behalf  of  religion,  and  some  of  the  most 

1  Hunger. 


■f 


388 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


effective  interpretation  of  God's  government  among  the  nations. 
That  man  has  a  shriveled  heart  ^vho  begrudges  the  five  pen- 
nies he  pays  to  the  newsboy  who  brings  the  world  to  his  feet. 
There  are  to-day  connected  with  the  editorial  and  reportorial 
corps  of  newspaper  establishments  men  of  the  highest  culture 
and  most  unimpeachable  morality,  who  are  living  on  the  most 
limited  stipends,  martyrs  to  the  work  to  which  they  feel  them- 
selves called.     .     .     .     But  we  are  all  aware  that  there  is  a  class 
of  men  in  towns  and  cities  who  send  forth  a  baleful  influence 
from  their  editorial  pens.     There  are  enough  bad  newspapers 
weekly  poured  out  into  the  homes  of  our  country  to  poison  a 
vast  population.     In  addition  to  the  home  manufacture  of  iniqui- 
tous sheets,  the  mail-bags  of  other  cities  come  in  gorged  with 
a))ominations.     New  York  scoops  up  from  the  sewers  of  other 
cities,  and  adds  to  its  own  newspaper  filth.     And  to-night,  lying 
ou  the  tables  of  this  city,  or  laid  away  on  the  shelf,  or  in  the 
trunk,  for  more  private  perusal,  are  papers  the  mere  mention 
of  the  names  of  which  would  send  a  blush  to  the  cheek,  and 
make    the    decent   and    Christian  world    cry  out :    "  God  save 

the  city!''     ... 

A  bad  newspaper   scruples  not  at  any  slander.     It  may   be 
that,  to  escape  the  grip  of  the  law,  the  paragraphs  will  be  nicely 
worded,  so  that  the  suspicion  is  thrown  out  and  the  damage  done 
without  anv  exposure  to  the  law.     Year  by  year  thousands  of 
men  are  crushed  by  the  ink-roller.     An  unscrupuknis  man  in 
the  editorial  chair  may  suiite  as  with  the  wing  of  a  destroying 
angel.     What  to  him  is  commercial  integrity,  or  professional  rep- 
u^^tion,  or  woman's  honor,  or  home's  sanctity?     It  seems  as  if 
he  held  in  his  hand  a  hose,  with  which,  while  all  the  harpies  of 
sin  were  working  at  the  pumps,  he  splashed  the  waters  of  death 
upon  the  best  interests  of  society.     .     .     • 


CULTURE. 


389 


The  bad  newspaper  stops  not  at  publishing  the  most  damaging 
and  unclean  story.  The  only  question  is  :  "  Will  it  pay?"  And 
there  are  scores  of  men  who,  day  by  day,  bring  into  the  news- 
paper offices  manuscripts  for  publication  which  unite  all  that  is 
pernicious;  and,  before  the  ink  is  fairly  dry,  tens  of  thousands 
are  devouring  with  avidity  the  impure  issue.  Their  sensibilities 
deadened,  their  sense  of  right  perverted,  their  purity  of  thought 
tarnished,  their  taste  for  plain  life  despoiled — the  printing-press, 
with  its  iron  foot,  hath  dashed  their  life  out !  While  I  speak, 
there  are  many  people,  with  feet  on  the  ottoman,  and  the  gas 
turned  on,  looking  down  on  the  page,  submerged,  mind  and'soul, 
in  the  perusal  of  this  God-forsaken  periodical  literature,  and 
the  last  Christian  mother  will  have  put  the  hands  of  the  little 
child  under  the  coverlet  for  the  night  before  they  will  rouse  up, 
as  the  city  clock  strikes  the  hour  of  midnight,  to  go  death-struck 
to  their  prayerless  pillows.^ 

Amusements. — The  mind  ought  sometimes  to  be  amused,  that 
it  may  the  better  return  to  thought,  and  to  itself.^ 

If  those  who  are  the  enemies  of  innocent  amusements  had 
the  direction  of  the  world,  they  would  take  away  the  spring 
and  youth,  the   former  from  the  year,  the  latter  from  human 

life.^ 

It  is  very  important  that  people  who  have  passed  forty  years 
of  age  do  not  forget  that  once  they  were  boys  and  girls.  That 
memory  seems  from  a  multitude  to  have  been  obliterated.  Put 
yourself  back  twenty  or  fi)rty  years  ago,  and  see  what  you 
needed  then.  Rheumatism  is  incompetent  to  make  laws  for 
sound  ankles.  Do  not  demand  that  people  have  the  tastes  of 
old  age  before  they  get  into  the  thirties.  Don't  expect  golden- 
rod  and  china-asters  to  bloom  on  a  May  morning.  The  people 
who  start   life  aged  in  preferences  are  the  people  who,  after  a 


1  Talmage. 


2  Phaedrus. 


3  Balzac. 


390 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


while,  bore  the  life  out  of  prayer-meetings  and  make  religion 
a  snuffling  cant,  and  disgust  the  world  with  that  which  ought  to 
he  attractive.  You  can't  improve  upon  the  Divine  plan,  and 
when  God  made  boys  and  girls  He  intended  them  to  be  boys 
and  "iris  until  called  to  other  conditions.  They  will  come  to 
the  hard  tug  of  life  soon  enough.^ 

One  can  not  be  always  working,  eating,  and  sleeping.  There 
must  be  time  for  relaxation,  time  for  mental  pleasures,  time  for 
bodily  exercise. 

There  is  a  profound  meaning  in  the  word  "amusement;"  much 
more  than  most  people  are  disposed  to  admit.  In  fact,  amuse- 
ment is  an  important  part  of  education.  It  is  a  mistake  to  sup- 
pose that  the  boy  or  the  man  who  plays  at  some  out-door  game 
is  wasting  his  time.  Amusement  of  any  kind  is  not  wasting 
time,  but  economizing  life. 

Relax  and  exercise  frequently,  if  you  would  enjoy  good  health. 
If  you  do  not  relax,  and  take  no  exercise,  the  results  will  soon 
appear  in  bodily  ailments  which  always  accompany  sedentary 
occupations.  "The  students,"  says  Lord  Derby,  "who  think 
they  have  not  time  for  bodily  exercise  will,  sooner  or  later,  find 
time  for  illness." 

There  are  people  in  the  world  who  would,  if  they  had  the 
power,  hang  the  heavens  about  with  crape ;  throw  a  shroud  over 
the  beautiful  and  life-giving  bosom  of  the  planet ;  pick  the 
bright  stars  from  the  sky ;  veil  the  sun  with  clouds;  pluck  the 
silver  moon  from  her  place  in  the  firmament ;  shut  up  our  gar- 
dens and  fields,  and  all  the  flowers  with  which  they  arc  bedecked; 
and  doom  the  world  to  an  atmosphere  of  gloom  and  cheerless- 
ness.  There  is  no  reason  or  morality  in  this,  and  there  is  still 
less  religion.     .     . 

Make  a  man  happy,  and  his  actions  will  be  happy  too  ;  doom 


Talmage. 


CULTURE. 


391 


him  to  dismal  thoughts  and  miserable  circumstances,  and  you 
will  make  him  gloomy,  discontented,  morose,  and  probably 
vicious.  Hence,  coarseness  and  crime  are  almost  invariably 
found  among  those  who  have  never  been  accustomed  to  be  cheer- 
ful ;  whose  hearts  have  been  shut  against  the  purifying  influences 
of  a  happy  communion  with  nature,  or  an  enlightened  and  cheer- 
ful intercourse  with  man.  Man  has  a  strong  natural  appetite  for 
relaxation  and  amusement,  and,  like  all  other  natural  appetites, 
it  has  been  implanted  for  a  wise  purpose.  It  can  not  be  repressed, 
but  will  break  out  in  one  form  or  another.  Any  well-directed 
attempt  to  promote  an  innocent  amusement  is  worth  a  dozen  ser- 
mons against  pernicious  ones.  If  we  do  not  provide  the  oppor- 
tunity for  enjoying  wholesome  pleasures,  men  will  certainly  find 
out  vicious  ones  for  themselves.  Sydney  Smith  truly  said  :  "  In 
order  to  attack  vice  with  effect,  we  must  set  up  something  better 

in  its  place." 

Temperance  reformers  have  not  sufficiently  considered  how 
much  the  drinking  habits  of  the  country  are  the  consequences  of 
gross  tastes,  and  of  the  too  limited  opportunities  which  exist  in 
this  country  for  obtaining  access  to  amusements  of  an  innocent 
and  improving  tendency.  The  Avorkman's  tastes  have  been 
allowed  to  remain  uncultivated ;  present  wants  engross  his 
thoughts ;  the  gratification  of  his  appetites  is  his  highest  pleas- 
ure; and  when  he  relaxes,  it  is  to  indulge  immoderately  in  beer 

or  whisky.^ 

If  you  are  animated  by  right  principles,  and  have  awakened 
to  the  dignity  of  life,  the  subject  of  amusements  may  be  left  to 
settle  itself.  It  is  not  a  difficult,  unless  it  is  made  a  primary, 
question.  When,  however,  amusements  dominate  the  life  ;  when 
they  consume  any  considerable  fraction  of  one's  time  or  income ; 
when  they  are  found  to  be  giving  a  tone  to  the  thoughts  ;  when 


1  Smiles. 


392 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


they  pass  the  Hue  of  moderation  and  run  into  excess;  when  they 
begin  to  be  in  any  degree  a  necessity,  having  shaped  the  mind 
to  their  form,  they  grow  vexatious,  and  become  a  difficult  factor 
in  the  adjustment  of  conduct.     .     . 

The  war  of  opinions  is  waged  chiefly   over  the   opera    and 
theater.     If  the  question  were  to  take  the  form  of  indiscriminate 
and  habitual  attendance   upon  them,  it  would   admit  of  quick 
answer.     There  is  an  old  criticism  of  the  stage  that  is  not  easily 
answered.     It  is  twofold  :  the  appeal  to  sensibilities  is  excessive; 
the  scenic  can  not  be  made  a  vehicle  of  moral  teaching,  because 
the  medium  is  one  of  unreality — in  fine,  because  it  is  acting.     If 
one  were  to  choose  the  surest  and  speediest  method  of  reducing 
himself  to  a  mush   of  sensibility,  let  him  steadily  frequent  the 
opera  and  theater,      ^yhat  emotion  do  they  not  stir?      What 
good  purpose  do  they  confirm?     .     .     .     The  opera   gives  us 
music  in  nearly  the  highest  degree  of  the  art.     Human  Society 
will  never  shut  itself  off  from  the  realization  of  any  true  art,  nor 
ouo-ht  it  to  do  so.     Its  instinctive  course  is  to  insist  on  the  art, 
and  trust  to  time  and  change  to   rid  it  of  evil  association.     A 
like  claim   may  be  made  for  the  theater ;  it  is  a  field  for  the 
expression  of  the  highest  literature  through  a  genuine  art.     Here 
is  a  solid  fact  that  will  never  be  wiped  out.     The  stage  has  stood 
for  three  thousand  years  because  it  has  a  basis  in  human  nature. 
It    represents    an    art,   and    society  never  drops    an    art.      The 
abuses  that  have  clustered  about  it  are  enormous.     In  evil  days 
it  sinks  to  the  bottom  of  the  scale  of  decency,  and  in  best  days 
it  hardlv  rises  to  the  average.     Still,  it  reflects  society,  and  with 
the  growing  habit  of  attendance  it  has  steadily  gained  in  respecta- 
bility.    A  long  journey,  however,  is  before  it  in  this  direction. 
"Oh,   reform  it  altogether,"   prays  Hamlet.     But  the  drift  is 
plain,  and  the  final  solution  is  apparent.     Society  will  not  drop 


^ 


CULTURE. 


393 


the  stage,  but  will  demand  that  it  shall  rise  to  its  own  standards, 
and  be  as  pure  as  itself;  decent  people  will  have  a  decent  stage. 
.  .  .  Shall  we  never  visit  the  theater  ?  When  the  place  is 
decent  in  its  associations,  when  the  play  is  pure  and  has  some 
true  worth,  when  the  acting  has  the  merit  of  art,  I  know  of  no 
principle  that  forbids  it.  But  if,  under  these  conditions,  you 
see  fit  to .  attend,  let  it  be  no  reason  for  visiting  the  average 
theater,  nor  let  it  represent  a  habit.  The  technical  amusements 
should  not  be  made  habits;  it  is  recreation— a  very  difterent 
thin<r — that  is  to  be  made  habitual.     .     .     . 

I  have  said  so  much  on  amusements,  chiefly  in  order  to  get 
them  into  a  region  of  clear  thought;  but  I  have  another  and 
more  difficult  end  in  view— namely,  to  take  you  altogether  away 
from  them,  or  to  lead  you  to  regard  them  as  but  trivial  secondary 
matters.  They  are  not  of  the  substance  of  life;  they  do  not 
face  the  heights  of  our  nature,  but  are  turned  toward  the  child- 
side  of  it.  The  dance,  the  game,  the  play,  all  quite  innocent  in 
themselves  and  involving  something  of  art,  are  not  the  stufl*out 
of  which  manhood  is  built,  nor  must  they  enter  largely  into  it. 
AVe  naturallv  connect  them  with  early  years,  and  expect  them  to 
,drop  their  claims  when  life  fully  asserts  itself.^ 

Observe  order  in  your  amusements;  that  is,  allow  them  no 
more  than  their  proper  place;  study  to  keep  them  within  due 
bounds;  mingle  them  in  a  temperate  succession  with  serious 
duties,  and  the  higher  business  of  life.  Human  life  can  not 
proceed  to  advantage  without  some  measure  of  relaxation  and 
entertainment.  We  require  relief  from  care.  We  are  not 
formed  for  a  perpetual  stretch  of  serious  thought.  By  too 
intense  and  continued  application,  our  feeble  powers  would  soon 
be  worn  out.  At  the  same  time,  from  our  propensity  to  ease 
and  pleasure,  amusement  proves,  among  all  ranks  of  men,  the 


1  Hunger. 


394 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


most  dangerous  foe  to  order.  For  it  tends  incessantly  to  usurp 
and  encroaeh,  to  widen  its  territories,  to  thrust  itself  into  the 
))lace  of  more  important  concerns,  and  thereby  to  disturb  and 
counteract  the  natural  course  of  things.  One  frivolous  amuse- 
ment, indulged  out  of  season,  will  often  carry  perplexity  and 
confusion  through  a  long  succession  of  affairs. 

AmuseiJients,  therefore,  though  they  be  of  an  innocent  kind, 
require  steady  government  to  keep  them  within  a  due  and  lim- 
ited province.  But  such  as  are  of  an  irregular  and  vicious 
nature  are  not  to  be  governed,  but  to  be  banished  from  every 
orderly  society.^ 

All  styles  of  recreation  are  only  intended  to  fit  us  for  useful- 
ness. Have  any  of  vou  fallen  under  the  delusion  that  your 
chief  aim  ouirht  to  be  to  eniov  vourself?  Hand  me  a  list  of 
those  people  whom  you  find  all  hours  of  the  day  and  evening  in 
places  of  entertainment,  and  I  will  give  you  a  list  of  people  who 
are  being  sacrificed  for  both  worlds.  Pepper,  salt,  sugar  and 
cinnamon  are  good  and  important  in  their  places,  but  that  would 
be  an  unhealthy  repast  in  which  there  was  nothing  else  on  the 
table.  Amusements  and  recreation  are  the  spice  and  condiments 
of  the  solid  feast  of  this  life,  but  some  of  you  over-pleasuring, 
people  are  trying  to  feed  your  body,  mind,  and  soul  on  condi- 
ments. Only  those  who  have  useful  work  to  do,  and  do  it  well, 
are  entitled  to  recreations.  The  Bible  was  not  sarcastic,  as  is 
generally  supposed,  when  it  says:  "Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in 
thy  youth,  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee  in  the  days  of  thy  youth ; 
but  know  thou  that  for  all  these  things  God  will  bring  thee  unto 
judgment.'^  It  means  to  say  :  "  Have  a  good  time  ;  have  a  real 
good  time  ;  but  don't  go  into  anything  that  the  judgment  throne 
will  frighten.  Don't  forget  your  duties;  don't  forget  your  im- 
mortality.''" 


1  Blair. 


2  Talmage. 


CULTURE. 


395 


Company. — For  many  years  of  our  life  we  are  forming  our- 
selves upon  what  we  observe  in  those  about  us.  AVe  learn  not 
only  their  phrases,  but  their  manners.  The  civility  and  courtesy 
which,  in  a  well-ordered  family,  are  constantly  seen  by  its 
younger  members,  can  not  fail  to  infiuence  their  deportment, 
and,  Avhatever  their  natural  vulgarity  may  be,  will  dispose  them 
to  check  its  appearance.  Let  the  descendant  of  the  meanest 
cottager  be  placed  from  his  Infancy  where  he  perceives  every  one 
mindful  of  decorum,  the  marks  of  his  extraction  are  soon  obliter- 
ated ;  at  least,  his  carriage  does  not  discover  it.  And,  were  the 
heir  of  a  dukedom  to  be  continually  in  the  kitchen  or  stable,  the 
voung  lord  would  soon  be  recognized  only  by  his  clothes  and 
title  :  in  other  respects,  he  might  be  taken  for  the  son  of  a  groom 
or  the  scullion.^ 

There  is  a  certain  magic  or  charm  in  company,  for  it  will 
assimilate,  and  make  you  like  to  them,  by  much  conversation 
with  them  ;  if  they  be  good  company,  it  is  a  great  means  to 
make  you  good,  or  confirm  you  in  goodness ;  but  if  they  be 
bad,  it  is  twenty  to  one  but  they  will  infect  and  corrupt  you. 
Therefore,  be  wary  and  shy  in  choosing  and  entertaining,  or 
frequenting  any  company  or  companions;  be  not  too  hasty  com- 
mitting yourself  to  them ;  stand  off  a  while  till  you  have  in- 
quired of  some  (that  you  know  by  experience  to  be  faithful) 
what  they  are;  observe  what  company  they  keep;  be  not  too 
easy  to  gain  acquaintance,  but  stand  off,  and  a  distance  yet 
awhile,  till  vou  have  observed  and  learnt  touching  them.  Men 
or  women  that  are  greedy  of  acquaintance,  or  hasty  in  it,  are 
oftentimes  snared  in  ill  company  before  they  are  aware,  and 
entangled  so  that  they  can  not  easily  loose  from  it  after,  when 

they  would. ^ 

Never  let  yourself  down  :    have  no  companions   rather  than 


1  Dean  Bolton. 


2Sir  M.Hale. 


^1 


396 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


397 


:l 


bad  ones.  A  poor  scholar  is  as  much  a  gentleman,  if  his  mind 
be  on  a  level  with  his  calling,  as  if  he  had  an  estate;  but  the 
owner  of  a  county,  with  the  mind  of  a  chuff  or  churl,  is  beneath 
you.  What  a  man's  father  was  is  indifferent,  if  he  were  honest, 
and  have  transmitted  no  shame  to  his  children.  There  is  a 
peerage  of  poverty  as  much  as  of  title — a  peerage  both  intel- 
lectual and  moral.  Want  of  money  is  no  disgrace,  else  we  have 
to  lament  ITis  to  whom  we  all  look;  the  trouble  is  when  the 
man  is  poor  as  well  as  his  purse.  Refinement  of  mind,  thirst 
for  knowledge,  sensibility,  and  high  principle  are  the  grandest 
court  robes.  I  know  no  finer  type  of  young  manhood  than  he 
w^ho,  fired  by  a  divine  impulse,  has  consecrated  himself  to  knowl- 
edge, and,  through  many  struggles,  is  true  to  his  vow.  The 
republic  of  letters  and  that  of  worth  know  no  titles  but  their 
own.  The  gentleman  is  not  an  affair  of  clothes  or  purse. 
Descent,  hereditary  culture,  the  influence  of  conscious  power 
that  comes  with  gentle  birth,  are  gifts  of  Cxod ;  but  there  are 
other  gifts  with  which  they  can  make  alliance  where  all  these 
are  wanting.  But  be  sure  you  are  not  sentimental  merely,  and 
that  you  do  not  see  qualities  that  do  not  exist,  for  companion- 
ship never  levels  up,  where  the  inequality  is  essential,  but  always 

levels  down. 

Any  sign  of  want  of  principle  should  make  you  draw  back  at 
once  from  intimacy,  or  even  acquaintance.  Never  think  any 
instance  too  trifling.  A  chink  lets  in  light  enough  to  show  wdiat 
full  day  w^ould  do.  A  trifle  is  oflen  the  only  test  you  can  have, 
and  shows  rottenness  as  much  as  a  speck  of  mold  on  ripe  fruit. 
Rely  on  it,  the  wind  may  be  judged  by  a  feather.  Dishonor  of 
any  kind;  a  thought 'of  dishonesty;  any  coquetting  with  a  lie, 
if  even  with  equivocation  only;  undutifulness  in  any  relation- 
ships; wrong  done,  or  even  proposed,  to  employers;   want  of 


heart  or  conscience  in  any  indication,  however  slight,  are  vanes 
that  show  the  currents  of  the  soul. 
Cowper  was  right: 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 

Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense 

(Yet  wanting  sensibility),  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

To  give  pain  for  amusement,  whether  by  a  word  or  an  act, 
aro-ues  moral  defect;  want  of  thought  may  by  chance  wound, 
but  the  regret  that  follow^s  discovery  atones  for  the  error.  A\  ant 
of  heart  plays  with  feelings,  and  laughs  at  the  pain  it  can  not 

comprehend.     .     .     . 

Have  nothing  to  do  with  one  who  jests  at  what  you  or  others 
think  sacred.  To  have  no  reverence  is  to  want  the  higher  man- 
hood. A  light  mocker  is  a  mere  fribble  in  soul.  Religion  and 
relicrious  men,  serious  and  earnest,  are  far  above  any  laughter. 
With  the  pale  kingdoms  so  near,  and  the  throne  of  God  shining 
through  the  vast  heavens,  joking  is  quite  out  of  place  on  such 
thin<>'s.  ...  A  sneer  is  of  the  pit,  and  idiot  laughter  is 
infinitely  beneath  the  poorest  psalm  singing.^ 

No  man,  in  effect,  doth  accompany  with  others,  but  he  learn- 
eth,  ere  he  is  aware,  some  gesture,  voice,  or  fashion.^ 

Look  well  to  this  matter  of  companions.  Evil  influences  are 
not  resistible.  They  may  not  always  overcome,  but  they  inev- 
itably hurt.     ... 

Resolutely  avoid  all  companionship  that  falls  below  your  taste 
and  standard  of  right.  If  it  offends  you,  reject  it  with  instant 
decision ;  a  second  look  is  dangerous.  Pope  is  now  so  little  read 
that  his  wise  lines  may  seem  new : 


1  Geikie. 


3  Bacon. 


398 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


399 


Vice  is  a  raonster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 

• 

Familiarity  with  evil — the  familiarity  of  contact  or  intimate 
knowledge — "never  ceases  to  be  dangerous  to  any  one.  It  is  the 
glory  and  perfection  of  female  virtue  that  it  does  not  know  evil.^ 

Conversation. — Remember  that  talking  is  one  of  the  fine 
arts — the  noblest,  the  most  important,  and  the  most  difficult — 
and  that  its  fluent  harmonies  may  be  spoiled  by  the  intrusion  of 
a  single  harsh  note.  Therefore  conversation  which  is  suggest- 
ive rather  than  argumentative,  which  lets  out  the  most  of  each 
talker's  results  of  thought,  is  commonly  the  pleasantest  and  the 
most  profitable.  It  is  not  easy,  at  the  best,  for  two  persons 
talking  together  to  make  the  most  of  each  other's  thoughts, 
there  are  so  manv  of  them." 

When  we  are  in  the  company  of  sensible  men,  we  ought  to 
be  doubly  cautious  of  talking  too  much,  lest  we  lose  two  good 
things — their  good  opinion,  and  our  own  improvement;  for  what 
w^e  have  to  say  we  know,  but  what  they  have  to  say  we  know  not.^ 

He  who  sedulously  attends,  pointedly  asks,  calmly  speaks, 
coolly  answers,  and  ceases  when  he  has  no  more  to  say,  is  in 
possession  of  some  of  the  best  requisites  of  man.^ 

Hazlitt  tells  us  that  the  best  converser  he  ever  knew  was  the 
best  listener.  "  I  mean  Xorthcote,  the  painter.  Painters,  by 
their  profession,  are  not  bound  to  shine  in  conversation,  and 
thev  shine  the  more.  He  lends  his  ear  to  an  observation  as  if 
you  had  brought  him  a  piece  of  news,  and  enters  into  it  with  as 
much  avidity  and  earnestness  as  if  it  interested  him  personally.'' 
Eomillv  was  a  similar  talker:  his  conversation  never  indicated 
a  wish  to  display,  but  flowed  from  the  abundance  of  a  refined 


} 


Hunger. 


s  Holmes. 


"Colton. 


<  Lavater. 


and  richly  informed  understanding.  Carlyle,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  a  poor  listener.  He  gives  no  one  else  a  chance,  but,  accord- 
ing to  Margaret  Fuller,  bears  down  all  opposition,  not  only  by 
his  wit  and  onset  of  words,  resistless  in  their  sharpness  as  so 
many  bayonets,  but  by  actual  physical  superiority,  raising  his 
voice  and  rushing  on  his  opponent  with  a  torrent  of  sound.^ 

Tasso's  conversation  was  neither  gay  nor  brilliant.  Dante 
was  either  taciturn  or  satirical.  Butler  was  sullen  or  biting. 
Gray  seldom  talked  or  smiled.  Hogarth  and  Swift  were  very 
absent-minded  in  company.  Milton  was  unsociable,  and  even 
irritable,  when  pressed  into  conversation.  Kirwan,  though  copi- 
ous and  eloquent  in  public  addresses,  was  meager  and  dull  in 
colloquial  discourse.  Yirgil  was  heavy  in  conversation.  La 
Fontaine  appeared  heavy,  coarse,  and  stupid;  he  could  not 
describe  what  he  had  just  seen;  but  then  he  was  the  model  of 
poetry.  Chaucer's  silence  was  more  agreeable  than  his  conver- 
sation. Dryden's  conversation  Avas  slow  and  dull,  his  humor 
saturnine  and  reserved.  Corneille,  in  conversation,  was  so  in- 
sipid that  he  never  failed  in  wearying:  he  did  not  even  speak 
correctly  that  language  of  which  he  was  such  a  master.  Ben 
Jonson  used  to  sit  silent  in  company  and  suck  his  wine  and  ilicxr 
humors.  Southey  was  stiff,  sedate,  and  wrapped  up  in  asceti- 
cism. Addison  was  good  company  with  his  intimate  friends, 
but  in  mixed  company  he  preserved  his  dignity  by  a  stiff  and 
reserved  silence.  Fox,  in  conversation,  never  flagged ;  his  ani- 
mation and  variety  were  inexhaustible.  Dr.  Bentley  was  loqua- 
cious. Grotius  was  talkative.  Goldsmith  ''  wrote  like  an  angel, 
and  talked  like  poor  Poll."  Burke  was  eminently  entertaining, 
enthusiastic,  and  interesting  in  conversation.  Curran  was  a  con- 
vivial deity  :  he  soared  into  every  region,  and  was  at  home  in 
all.     Dr.  Birch  dreaded  a  pen  as  he  did  a  torpedo ;  but  he  could 

1  Mathews. 


400 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


talk  like  running  water.  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  monotonously  and 
ponderously,  but  in  conversation  his  words  were  close  and 
sinewy;  and  "if  his  pistol  missed  fire,  he  knocked  down  his 
antagonist  with  the  butt  of  it."  Coleridge,  in  his  conversation, 
was  full  of  acuteness  and  originality.  Leigh  Hunt  has  been  well 
termed  the  philosopher  of  hope,  and  likened  to  a  pleasant  stream 
in  conversation.  Carlyle  doubts,  objects,  and  constantly  demurs. 
Fisher  Ames  was  a  powerful  and  eiiective  orator,  and  not  the 
less  distinguished  in  the  social  circle.  He  possessed  a  fluent 
language,  a  vivid  fancy,  and  a  well-stored  memory.^ 

When  Dr.  Johnson  was  asked  by  Mr.  Boswell  how  he  had 
attained  to  his  extraordinary  excellence  in  conversation,  he  re- 
plied, he  had  no  other  rule  or  system  than  this :  that,  whenever 
he  had  anything  to  say,  he  tried  to  say  it  in  the  best  manner  he 
was  able.  It  is  this  perpetual  striving  after  excellence  on  the 
one  hand,  or  the  want  of  such  eifort  on  the  other,  which  more 
than  the  original  difference  of  gifts  (certain  and  great  as  that 
difference  may  be)  contributes  to  bring  about  the  differences  we 
observe  in  the  works  and  characters  of  men.^ 

The  house  stands  for  comfort  and  for  conversatior,  and  parlors 
were  misnamed  if  not  p-opled  with  ideas.  Whatever  may  be 
spoken  is  here  best  spoken,  and  what  may  not  be  delicately  im- 
plied is  forbidden  anywhere.  Here  is  woman's  world;  here  are 
the  graces,  the  proprieties,  the  wit,  the  wisdom  of  discourse — 
woman's  discretion  presiding  over  all.  And  where  women  are, 
the  better  things  are  implied  if  not  spoken.  In  the  company 
of  accomplished  women  one  finds  his  best  gifts  at  command,  his 
happiest  utterances.  In  the  flow  of  discourse  he  dips  into  th- 
sweetness  and  depth  of  his  mother  tongue  to  bring  forth  its 
riches  of  sentiment  and  of  phrase.  Remarkable,  too,  with  what 
salient   sense   and  sparkle   the  sex  are  trained    in   this   genial 


CULTURE. 


401 


. 


school,  how  readily  they  in  conversation  bring  forth  the  full 
opulence  of  speech  to  the  surprise  and  confusion  of  scholars  and 
men  of  social  accomplishments,  their  wise  tongues  silencing  the 
egotists  who  mav  venture  on  a  tilt  with  them. 

Oft  woman's  wit  prompts  and  prevails 
When  man's  best  counsel  halts  and  fails. 

Nor  is  she  a  stranger  to  the  decorum  of  silence;  for 

Though  discreetly  speak,  she  can 
Still  be  silent  rather  than 
Talk  while  others  may  be  heard, 
As  if  she  did  hate,  or  feared 
Their  condition  who  will  force 
All  to  wait  on  their  discourse. 

True  intercourse  involves  the  interplay  of  the  feminine  and 
masculine  forces.  Heart  and  head  appear  and  disappear  in 
alternate  rhyme  of  sentiment  and  thought,  giving  soul  and  body 
to  the  argument.  Only  as  idealists  persons  meet  gracefully. 
The  tender  touch  is  most  effective,  the  best  in  each  answering  to 
the  best  in  all.  It  is  this  modesty  and  docility  of  bearing  that 
constitute  the  charm  of  discourse — a  hospitality  given  to  opinions 
of  diverse  shades  of  difference,  along  with  a  depth  of  insight  that 
seizes  the  truths  underlying  the  extremes,  however  wide  these 
may  appear.  The  diffident  accost  each  other  with  a  certain  coy 
respectfulness,  having  its  rise  in  self-reverence,  a  regard  for  per- 
sons and  principles.     The  obtrusive  egotists, 

Bred  ere  manners  were  the  fashion. 
And  their  beginnings  set  them  free 
Alike  from  honor  and  civility, 

may  best  he  left  to  solve  the  Socratic  paradox  at  their  leisure. 
27 


lA.  W.  Chambers. 


s  Gladstone. 


402 


MAN   AND   Ills   RELATIO*s^S. 


To  be  ignorant  of  one's  ignorance  is  the  malady  of  the  ignorant. 
Modesty  and  docility  render  one  teachable;  then  reverence  and 
civility  are  possible.  He  who  has  not  surveyed  himself  tiuis 
personally  excludes  himself  from  society,  remains  still  in  his  den 
of  individualism,  that  burrow  of  the  baser  nature.  "  The  right 
societv  anion":  men  consists  in  the  communication  of  reason  and 
discourse,  and  not,  as  with  beasts,  to  graze  in  the  same  pasture.''^ 

Eight  Use  of  Spekch. — Words,  words,  words,  good  and  bad, 
loud  and  soft,  millions  in  the  hour,  innumerable  in  the  day,  un- 
imairinable  in  the  vear — what,  then,  in  the  life?  What  in  the 
history  of  a  nation  ?  What  in  that  of  the  world?  And  not  one 
of  them  is  ever  forgotten.     There  is  a  book  where  they  are  all 

set  d»wn.^ 

Oh  I  let  the  thought  add  dignity,  add  solemnity,  add  truthfid- 
ness,  add  absolute  and  perfect  purity,  add  sacred  and  illimitable 
charitv  to  all  we  sav  !  .  .  .  Our  duty  is  to  see  that  all  our 
words  be  holy  words,  true  words,  clean  words,  charitable  words; 
our  effort,  if  herein  we  would  live  nobly,  should  be  to  avoid  all 
impurity,  all  impiety,  all  malice,  and  all  lies.  .  .  .  Other 
sins  offer  at  least  some  ghastly  simulacrum  of  a  pleasure,  or  some 
poor  excuse  of  a  temptation  ;  this  sin  of  {^wearing  offers  none. 
What?  to  use  the  name  of  God,  and  of  God's  most  dread  judg- 
ments, in  the  mere  riotous  intemperance  of  brainless  speech! — 
to  fling  about  thoughts  so  dread  that  they  should  be  immured, 
"like  the  garden  of  Eden  with  the  swords  of  the  cherubim," 
and  to  prostitute  them  into  petulant  curses  or  idle  expletives — • 
one  hardly  knows  whether  most  to  admire  the  stupidity  of  such 
a  degradation  or  to  detest  its  guilt.  But  remember  that  there 
are  other,  and,  alas!  far  commoner  w^ays  of  taking  God's  word 
in  vain.  You  may  take  it  in  vain  by  the  irreverent  utterance 
of  a  petition,  by  the  empty  repetition  of  a  creed,  by  the  undevo- 


lAlcott. 


2  Dean  Alford. 


CULTURE. 


403 


tional  singing  of  a  hymn  :  you  may  take  it  in  vain  as  you  read 
a  lesson  in  chapel,  or  say  a  grace  in  hall — ay,  take  it  in  vain, 
though  the  lips  move  not,  as  you  join  in  acts  of  adoration  and 
listen  to  words  of  prayer.  Oh,  let  there  be  reverence  among  us 
for  sacred  things.     .     .     . 

^fore  criminal  even  than  irreverence,  more  degrading  even 
than  falsehood,  more  pestilent  even  than  slander — oh,  if  there  be 
a  sin  which  needs  "the  iierv  whip  of  an  exterminating:  an<rel,"  it 
is  the  sin  of  those  who  degrade  one  of  the  highest  gifts  of  God 
to  do  the  vilest  office  of  His  enemies.  What  should  we  think  of 
one  who  smeared  the  walls  of  a  city  with  the  elements  of  plague? 
what  of  him  who,  on  the  most  dangerous  headlands,  kindled,  of 
purpose,  the  wrecker's  fire?  Yet  even  he  would  be  doing  the 
devil's  work  less  obviously  and  less  perilously  than  he  who,  into 
the  ear  of  another,  pours  the  leprous  distillment  of  his  own  most 
evil  thoughts.  The  influence  of  such  w^ords  is  truly  baleful ; 
their  effects  often  terribly  permanent.  They  paint  the  soul's 
inmost  chambers  Avith  unhallowed  imagery ;  they  break  on  its 
holiest  memories  with  satanic  songs.  The  troubled  sea,  when  it 
can  not  rest,  whose  w^aters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt — raging  waves, 
foaming  out  their  owm  shame — such  are  the  Scripture  metaphors 
for  these.^ 

Avoid  the  habit  of  speaking  carckssli/j  using  ungrammatical 
expressions,  low  phrases,  unauthorized  words,  provincialisms, 
etc.  This,  you  will  say,  is  a  very  small  matter;  but  if  a  neglect 
of  such  counsel  should  preclude  your  admission  into  more  refined 
circles  of  society,  it  wall  j^rove  ^o  you  a  matter  of  some  conse- 
quence. Wealth,  station,  influential  connections,  may  do  much 
toward  securing  respect;  but  vulgarity  can  counteract  them  all. 
Wit  and  intelligence,  enchanting  as  they  are,  can  not  atone  for 
those  coarse  expressions  which  denote  ill-breeding  and  low  con- 


1  Farrar. 


404 


MAX   AND   HIS  HELATIONS. 


ceptions.     Many  amiable  ladies,  whose  connections  are  wealthy, 
of  high  official   standing  and  great  political  influence,  wonder 
why  it  is  they  are  not  admitted  to   the  circles  to  which  they 
aspire.     Xot  a  few  of  this  class  could  solve  the  perplexing  prob- 
lem which  embitters  their  existence,  if  they  would  pause  over 
the  hint  just  given.     Pedantry  and  aftectation  are  as  much  to  be 
avoided   as  vulgarity.      A  pretended  delicacy  of  expression  is 
often  a  sign  of  real  indelicacy  of  thought.     Words  are  often  cor- 
rupted by  the  channel  through  which  they  pass.     To  the  pure 
all  things  are  pure  :  "  Ilonl  soil  qui  ma!  y  j)ense.''     We  question 
the  refinement  which  calls  Hog  Island   Swine  Island,  and  dog 
the  '^domestic  quadruped  which  guards  the  habitation."     The 
lano-uao-e  of  Paris  is  that  of  attenuated  refinement ;  yet  it  is  the 
vehicle  of  the  grossest  moral  pollution.     Above  all,  shun  every 
appearance  o^ profanity.     It  is  a  sure  sign  of  very  bad  breeding 

or  a  verv  bad  heart. ^ 

It  is  a  very  common  thing  for  young  women  to  indulge  in 
hyperbole.  A  pretty  dress  is  very  apt  to  be  ^^  perfectly  splen- 
did;'' a  disagreeable  person  is  too  often  '' perfectly  hateful ;"  a 
party  in  which  the  company  enjoyed  themselves  somehow 
becomes  transmuted  into  the  "  most  dcilightful  thing  ever  seen.'* 
A  young  man  of  respectable  parts  and  manly  bearing  is  very 
often  ''  such  a  magnificent  fellow  !''  The  adjective  ''  perfect,'' 
that  stands  so  much  alone  as  never  to  have  the  privilege  of  help 
from  comparatives  and  superlatives,  is  sadly  overworked,  in 
company  with  several  others  of  the  intense  and  extravagant 
order.  The  result  is  that,  by  the  use  of  such  language  as  this, 
your  opinion  soon  becomes  valueless. 

A  woman  who  deals  only  in  superlatives  demonstrates  at  once 
the  fact  that  her  judgment  is  subordinate  to  her  feelings,  and 
that  her  opinions  are  entirely  unreliable.     All  language  thus 

1  Bishop  Thomson. 


CULTURE. 


405 


loses  its  power  and  significance.  The  same  words  are  brought 
into  use  to  describe  a  ribbon  in  a  milliner's  window  as  are  em- 
ployed in  the  endeavor  to  do  justice  to  Thalberg's  execution  of 
Beethoven's  most  heavenly  symphony.  The  use  of  hyperbole  is 
so  common  among  women  that  a  woman's  criticism  is  generally 
w^ithout  value.  Let  me  insist  upon  this  thing.  Be  more  eco- 
nomical in  the  use  of  your  mother  tongue.  Apply  your  terms 
of  praise  wnth  precision  ;  use  epithets  with  some  degree  of  judg- 
ment and  fitness.  Do  not  waste  vour  best  and  hiiihest  words 
upon  inferior  objects,  and  find  that  when  you  have  met  with 
something  which  re'ally  is  superlatively  great  and  good,  the  terms 
by  which  you  would  distinguish  it  have  all  been  thrown  away 
upon  inferior  things — that  you  are  bankrupt  in  expression.  If 
a  thing  is  simply  good,  say  so ;  if  pretty,  say  so ;  if  very  pretty, 
say  so;  if  fine,  say  so  ;  if  very  fine,  say  so ;  if  grand,  say  so ;  if 
sublime,  say  so  ;  if  magnificent,  say  so ;  if  splendid,  say  so. 
These  words  all  have  different  meanings,  and  you  may  say  them 
all  of  as  many  different  objects,  and  not  use  the  w^ord  "  perfect" 
once.  That  is  a  very  large  word.  You  will  probably  be  obliged 
to  save  it  for  jipplication  to  the  Deity,  or  to  his  works,  or  to  that 
serene  rest  which  remains  for  those  who  love  him. 

Young  w'omen  are  very  apt  to  imbibe  another  bad  habit, 
namely,  the  use  of  slang.  I  was  w^alking  along  the  street  the 
other  day,  when  I  met  an  elegantly  dressed  lady  and  gentleman 
upon  the  sidewalk.  My  attention  Avas  the  more  attracted  to 
them  because  they  were  evidently  strangers.  At  any  rate,  they 
impressed  me  as  being  very  thoroughly  refined  and  genteel 
people.  As  I  came  w^ithin  hearing  of  their  voices — they  were 
quietly  chatting  along  the  way — I  heard  these  words  from  the 
woman's  lips :  ^'  You  may  bet  your  life  on  that."  I  was  dis- 
gusted.     I  could  almost  have  boxed  her  ears.      I   remember 


406 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


407 


once  being  in  the  company  of  a  belle — one  who  liaJ  had  a  win- 
ter's reign  in  AVashington.  Sunie  kind  of  game  was  in  progress, 
when,  in  a  moment  of  surprise,  she  exclaimed  :  "  My  gracious!" 
Xow  vou  mav  reo-ard  this  as  a  finical  notion,  but  I  tell  you  that 
woman  fell  as  flatly  in  my  esteem  as  if  she  had  uttered  an  oath. 
A  ladv  fresh  from  Paris,  once  informed  me  that  it  would  do  the 
residents  of  a  certain  quiet  village  a  great  deal  of  good  to  be 
"stirred  up  with  a  long  pole." 

I  wouhl  bv  no   means   insinuate  that  all  young  women  use 
slang  as  coarse  as  this,  but  I  acknowledge  to  have  heard  phrases 
as  coarse  as  these  from  friends  whom  I  really  esteem.     Is  not 
the  use  of  these  phrases,  and  of  i)hrases  like  them,  whose  num- 
ber is  legion,  a  very  vulgar  habit?     It  seems  so  to  me,  and  I 
can   hear  them  from  the  lii)s  of  no  pretty  woman  except  with 
pain,  and  a  certain   degree  of  diminution  of  my  respect  for  her. 
The  habit  certainly  detracts  from  womanly  dignity.     It  can  be 
dropped  without  the  slightest  danger  of  going  into  that  extreme 
of  precision  in  the  use  of  language  which  takes  out  all  the  life 
and  freedom  from  social  intercourse.     Slang  is  bad  enough  in 
voun"'  men,  and  they  indidge   in  far  too  nuich  of  it;  but  in  a 
voun^'-  woman  it  is  disgusting.     It  is  not  the  outgrowth  of  fine 
natures;    it   is  not  accordant   with   refined   taste.     Any   young 
woman  who  indulges  in  it  does  it  at  a  very  sad  expense  to  her 
mind  and  manners  and  reputation.     Therefore,  beware  of  it; 
discard  it ;  guard  the  door  of  your  lips,  and  leave  it  to  those 
coarse  specimens  of  your  sex  of  whose  natures  and  habits  of 
thought  it  is  the  natural  and  fitting  expression.^ 

The  School  of  Life.— This  world  is  a  house  of  instruction. 
It  is  not  a  prison,  nor  a  penitentiary,  nor  a  palace  of  ease,  nor 
an  amphitheater  for  games  and  spectacles;  it  is  a  school.  And 
this  view  of  life  is  the  only  one  that  goes  to  the  depths  of  the 

1  Holland. 


philosophy  of  life  ;  the  only  one  that  answers  the  great  question, 
solves  the  great  ])roblcm  of  life.  For  what  is  life  given?  If 
for  enjoyment  alone,  if  for  suifering  merely,  it  is  a  chaos  of 
contradictions.  But,  if  for  moral  and  spiritual  learning,  then 
everythimr  is  full  of  sio^nifioanco,  full  of  wisdom.  And  this  view, 
too,  is  of  the  utmost  practical  importance.  It  immediately  pre- 
sents to  us  and  presses  upon  us  the  question:  What  are  we 
learning?  And  is  not  this,  truly,  the  great  question?  When 
vour  sou  comes  home  to  you  at  the  annual  vacation,  it  is  the  first 
question  in  your  thoughts  concerning  1dm;  and  you  ask  him,  or 
vou  ask  fi)r  the  certificates  and  testimonials  of  his  teachers,  to 
mve  vou  some  evidence  of  his  learning.  At  every  passing  term 
in  the  irreat  school  of  life,  also,  this  is  the  all-important  ques- 
tion.  AVhat  lias  a  man  got  from  \\\^  experience,  discipline, 
opportunity  of  any  past  period?  Not  what  has  he  gathered 
together  in  the  shape  of  any  tangible  good,  but  what  has  he 
got — in  that  other  and  eternal  treasure-house,  his  mind?     .     .     . 

Life,  I  repeat,  is  a  school.  The  periods  of  life  luc  its  terms; 
all  human  conditions  are  but  its  forms,  all  human  employments 
its  lessons.  Families  are  the  primary  departments  of  this  moral 
education;  the  various  circles  of  society  its  advanced  stages; 
kingdoms  are  its  universities;  the  world  is  but  i\\^  material 
structure,  built  for  the  administration  of  its  teachings;  and  it  is 
lifted  up  in  the  heavens  and  borne  through  its  annual  circuits 
for  no  end  but  this.     .     .     . 

With  what  an  early  care  and  wonderful  apparatus  does  Prov- 
idence begin  the  work  of  human  education!  An  infant  being 
is  cast  upon  the  lap  of  nature,  not  to  be  supported  or  nourished 
only,  but  to  be  instructed.  The  world  is  its  school.  All  ele- 
ments around  are  its  teachers.  Long  ere  it  is  placed  on  the  first 
form  before  the  human  master  it  has  been  at  school,  insomuch 


r 


408 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


that  a  distinguished  statesman  lias  said,  with  equal  truth  and 
originality,  that  he  had  probably  obtained  more  ideas  by  the  age 
of  five  or  six  years  than  he  has  acquired  ever  since.  And  what 
a  wonderful  ministration  is  it!  What  mighty  masters  are  there 
for  the  training  of  infancy  in  the  powers  of  surrounding  nature ! 
AVhat  a  finer  influence  than  any  human  dictation — they  pene- 
trate the  secret  places  of  that  embryo  soul,  and  bring  it  into  life 
and  light !     .     .     . 

So  begins  the  education  of  man  in  the  school  of  life.  It  were 
easy,  did  the  time  permit,  to  jDursue  it  into  its  successive  stages ; 
into  the  period  of  youth,  when  the  senses,  not  yet  vitiated,  are 
to  be  refined  into  grace  and  beauty,  and  the  soul  is  to  be  de- 
veloped into  reason  and  virtue;  of  manhood,  when  the  strength 
of  the  ripened  passions  is  to  be  held  under  the  control  of  wis- 
dom, and  the  matured  energies  of  the  higher  nature  are  to  be 
directed  to  the  accomplishment  of  worthy  and  noble  ends;  of 
age,  which  is  to  finish,  with  dignity,  the  work  begun  with 
ardor;  which  is  to  learn  patience  in  weakness,  to  gather  up  the 
fruits  of  experience  into  maxims  of  w^isdom,  to  cause  virtuous 
activity  to  subside  into  pious  contemplation,  and  to  gaze  upon 
the  visions  of  heaven,  through  the  parting  veils  of  earth.^ 

All  life  is  an  education.  I  use  the  word  not  of  books,  not  of 
science,  not  of  language,  but  in  its  very  widest  sense,  of  that 
wisdom  which  is  far  loftier  than  know^ledge,  because  it  is  health 
of  mind,  and  self-content,  and  well-directed  industry,  and  per- 
fect kindliness.  The  true  education  of  life — and,  for  all  we 
know,  it  may  go  on  even  beyond  the  grave — is  never  attained 
until  the  awful,  eternal  difference  between  right  and  wrong  is 
fully,  finally,  personally,  practically,  irrevocably  learned.  Alas! 
the  experience  of  every  day  teaches  us  that  the  lesson,  which 
looks  so  simple,  is  in   reality  terribly   difficult ;  at  all  times,  I 


^ 


CULTURE. 


409 


fear,  and  especially  in  youth,  we  get  easily  confused  in  our  judg- 
ments about  wrong-doing ;  easily  blunted  in  the  edge  of  our 
moral  sense ;  easily  apt  to  estimate  the  seriousness  of  sin,  only 
by  the  gravity  of  its  consequences,  not  by  the  fatality  of  its 
nature.  "  I  saw  in  Rome,''  says  a  modern  writer,  ^^  an  old  coin, 
a  silver  denarius,  all  coated  and  crusted  with  green  and  purple 
rust.  I  cidled  it  rust,  but  I  was  told  that  it  was  copper;  the 
allov  thrown  out  from  the  silver  until  there  was  none  left  within — 
the  silver  was  all  pure.  It  takes  ages  to  do  it,  but  it  does  get 
done.  Souls  are  like  that.  Something  moves  in  them  slowly, 
till  the  debasement  is  all  thrown  out.  Some  day  perhaps  the 
very  tarnish  shall  be  taken  off."  Well,  there  is  this  alloy,  this 
tarnish  in  all  of  us,  and  the  education  of  life  is  to  purge  it  all 
away  ;  if  we  do  not  do  this  ourselves,  God  in  mercy  helps  us  to 
do  it  by  sorrows,  by  disappointments,  by  failures,  by  judgments, 

By  fires  far  fiercer  than  are  blown  to  prove 
And  purge  the  silver  ore  adulterate.! 

Such  an  estimate  surely  lends  an  ennobling  and  attractive 
aspect  to  human  life.  It  transfigures  and  glorifies  the  whole 
course  of  it.  It  lends  ^'  the  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream  " 
to  the  hard,  dry  facts  of  human  life.  The  merchant,  amid  the 
multiplicity  of  his  engagements  and  avocations,  may  think  that 
he  is  forming  and  disciplining  some  special  faculty  which  it  has 
been  given  him  to  cultivate,  and  which  may  be  developed  here- 
after. The  humblest  laborer  who  tills  the  soil  may,  in  the  same 
way,  cultivate  the  garden  of  his  own  soul,  and  may  believe  that 
he  is  sowing  seed  that  will  yield  fruit  a  hundred-fold.  Such  a 
theory  shows  that,  not  in  retirement  and  separation  from  the 
world,  but  in  the  energies  and  activities  of  life  are  the  true 


I 


1  Dewey. 


1  Farrar. 


410 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


means  of  man's  highest  culture  to  be  found.  It  will  not  deprive 
life  of  its  happiness  or  its  innocent  gayety,  hut  will  rather  give 
the  settled  sunshine  of  a  heart  Avhich  is  firmly  based  on  that 
serene,  deep  love.  Here,  then,  we  have  the  expression  of  the 
belief  that  human  gifts  and  faculties,  here  vouchsafed,  are  the 
embryo  and  blossom  of  what  shall  be  fully  developed  hereafter.^ 
Our  life  may  be  food  to  us,  or  may,  if  we  will  have  it  so,  be 
})oison  ;  but  one  or  the  other  it  must  be.  AVhichever  and  what- 
ever it  is,  beyond  all  doubt  it  is  eminently  real.  So,  merely  as 
the  day  and  the  night  alternately  follow  one  another,  does  every 
day  when  it  yields  to  darkness,  and  every  night  when  it  passes 
into  dawn,  bear  with  it  its  own  tale  of  the  results  which  it  has 
silently  wrought  upon  each  of  us,  for  evil  or  for  good.  The  day 
of  diligence,  duty,  and  devotion  leaves  it  richer  than  it  found  us  ; 
richer  sometimes,  and  even  commonly,  in  our  circumstances; 
richer  always  in  ourselves.  But  the  day  of  aimless  lethargy,  the 
day  of  j^assionate  and  rebellious  disorder,  or  of  a  merely  selfish 
and  perverse  activity,  as  surely  leaves  us  ])oorer  at  its  close  than 
we  were  at  its  beginning.  The  w^hole  experience  of  life,  in  small 
things  and  in  great,  what  is  it?  It  is  an  aggregate  of  real  forces, 
which  are  always  acting  upon  us,  we  also  reacting  upon  them. 
It  is  in  the  nature  of  things  impossible  that,  in  their  contact 
with  our  plastic  and  susceptible  natures,  they  should  leave  us  as 
we  w^ere ;  and  to  deny  the  reality  of  their  daily  and  continual 
influence,  merely  because  we  can  not  register  its  results,  as  we 
note  the  changes  of  the  barometer,  from  hour  to  hour,  would  be 
just  as  rational  as  to  deny  that  the  sea  acts  upon  the  beach 
because  the  eye  will  not  tell  us  to-morrow  that  it  has  altered 
from  what  it  has  been  to-day.  If  we  fail  to  measure  the  results 
that  are  thus  hourly  wrought  on  shingle  and  in  sand,  it  is  not 
because  those  results  are  unreal,  but  because  our  vision  is  too 


CULTURE. 


411 


limited  in  its  powers  to  discern  them.  AYhen,  instead  of  compar- 
ing day  with  day,  avc  compare  century  with  century,  then  we 
may  often  find  that  land  has  become  sea,  and  sea  has  become 
land.  Even  so  we  can  perceive,  at  least  in  our  neighbors — 
toward  whom  the  eye  is  more  impartial  and  discerning  than 
toward  ourselves — that,  under  the  steady  pressure  of  the  experi- 
ence of  life,  human  characters  are  continually  being  determined 
for  good  or  evil;  are  developed,  confirmed,  modified,  altered,  or 
undermined.  It  is  the  office  of  good  sense,  no  less  than  of  faith, 
to  realize  this  great  truth  before  we  see  it,  and  to  live  under  the 
conviction  that  our  life  from  day  to  day  Is  a  true,  powerful,  and 
searching  discipline,  molding  us  and  making  us,  Avhether  it  be 
for  evil  or  for  good. 

Nor  are  these  real  eifects  wrouofbt  by  unreal  instruments.  Life 
and  the  world,  their  interests,  their  careers,  the  varied  gifts  of 
our  nature,  the  traditions  of  our  forefathers,  the  treasures  of 
laws,  institutions,  usages  of  languages,  of  literature,  and  of  art; 
all  the  beauty,  glory,  and  delight  with  which  the  Almighty 
Father  has  clothed  this  earth  for  the  use  and  profit  of  his  chil- 
dren, and  which  evil,  though  it  has  defaced,  has  not  been  able 
utterly  to  destroy;  all  these  are  not  merely  allowable,  but 
ordained  and  appointed  instruments  for  the  training  of  mankind.^ 

Lesson  of  Energy. — There  is  a  multitude  of  ringing  max- 
ims with  which  the  wise  in  all  ages  have  tried  to  enforce  this 
salutary  lesson  on  idlers,  unbelievers,  and  shivering  deserters. 
Fortune  favors  the  bold.  God  reaches  us  good  things  with  our 
own  hands  Little  can  be  done  for  him  who  will  himself  do 
itothing.  The  laggards  are  left  contemptuously  behind,  the  weak 
are  remorselessly  trampled  down,  and  the  cowards  are  omitted  in 
the  distribution  of  prizes.  Like  it  or  dislike  it,  this  is  the  law — 
namely,  that  we  must  either  resolve  and  strive,  or  fail  and  die. 


1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


1  Gladstone. 


412 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Xor  will  frenzied  fits  of  enterprise  answer.  Determined,  sober 
continuity  of  toil  is  necessary.  The  brawny  arm  and  the  heavy 
hammer  are  required  to  make  the  anvil  of  our  opportunity  rino-, 
and  to  shape  the  stubborn  masses  of  our  fortune.  Uncertainty, 
timidity,  laziness,  and  enervation  are  the  most  fatal  betrayers  of 
men,  while  a  believing  and  vital  intrepidity  is  their  surest  guide 
to  success.  Volition  must  tread  on  the  heels  of  desire;  that  is 
to  say,  we  must  cam  what  we  would  have  by  conquering  the 
impediments  to  it  and  fearlessly  seizing  it.  The  optative  mood 
should  always  lead  in  tlie  imperative,  a  firm  resolve  chasino-  a 
worthy  wish,  if  we  would  have  the  glorious  indicatives  of  victory 
displace  the  wretched  subjunctives  of  condition. 

There  are  no  obstacles  which  will  not  go  down  before  the 
fire  and  charge  of  enthusiasm,  heroism,  clearness,  and  decision. 
Thrilling  voices  breathe  from  the  monuments  of  the  mighty 
dead,  and  thunder  through  the  dome  of  fame  the  truth  that 
determination,  strength,  and  perseverance  are  the  three  cham- 
pions of  the  world.^ 

All  that  we  call  progress — civilization,  well-being,  and  pros- 
perity—depends upon  industry  diligently  applied— from  the 
culture  of  a  barley-stalk  to  the  construction  of  a  steamship ; 
from  the  stitching  of  a  collar  to  the  sculpturing  of  "the  statue 
that  enchants  the  world." 

All  useful  and  beautiful  thoughts,  in  like  manner,  are  the  issue 
of  labor,  of  study,  of  observation,  of  research,  of  diligent  elab- 
oration. The  noblest  poem  can  not  be  elaborated,  and  send 
down  its  undying  strains  into  the  future,  without  steady  and 
painstaking  labor.  Xo  great  work  has  ever  been  done  "at  a 
heat.''  It  is  the  result  of  repeated  efforts,  and  often  of  many 
failures.  One  generation  begins,  and  another  continues — the 
present  co-operating  with  the  past.     Thus,  the  Parthenon  began 


CULTURE. 


413 


with  a  mud-hut ;  the  "  Last  Judgment ''  with  a  few  scratches  on 
the  sand.  It  is  the  same  with  individuals  of  the  race.  They 
begin  with  abortive  efforts,  which,  by  means  of  perseverance, 
lead  to  successful  issues.^ 

Lesson  of  Obedience. — The  first  law  that  ever  God  gave  to 
mail  was  a  law  of  pure  obedience;  it  was  a  commandment  naked 
and  simple,  wherein  man  had  nothing  to  inquire  after,  or  to  dis- 
pute, forasmuch  as  to  obey  is  the  proper  office  of  a  rational  soul, 
acknowledging  a  heavenly  superior  and  benefactor.  From  obe- 
dience and  submission  spring  all  other  virtues,  as  all  sin  does 
from  self-opinion.^ 

That  high  virtue — the  true  school  of  empire — has  two  appli- 
cations, a  narrower  and  a  wider,  but  the  two  are  essentially  con- 
nected. In  the  narrower  sense  it  means  the  opposite  of  vain 
presumption,  of  spurious  independence,  of  self-asserting  impor- 
tance;  it  means  loyalty,  humility,  modesty  of  character  and  of 
demeanor,  cheerful  submission  to  just  authority  ;  in  its  wider — 
to  which  the  narrower  leads — it  means  the  law  of  duty  cheerfully 
accepted  as  the  law  of  life.^ 

How  false  is  the  conception,  how  frantic  the  pursuit,  of  that 
treacherous  phantom  which  men  call  Liberty !  There  is  no  such 
thins:  in  the  universe.  There  can  never  be.  The  stars  have  it 
not ;  the  earth  has  it  not ;  the  sea  has  it  not ;  and  we  men  have 
the  mockery  and  semblance  of  it  only  for  our  heaviest  pun- 
ishment. 

The  enthusiast  would  reply  that  by  Liberty  he  meant  the  Law 
of  Liberty.  Then  why  use  the  single  and  misunderstood  word? 
If  by  liberty  you  mean  chastisement  of  the  passions,  discipline 
of  the  intellect,  subjection  of  the  will ;  if  you  mean  the  fear  of 
inflicting,  the  shame  of  committing  a  wrong;  if  you  mean  respect 
for  all  who  are  in  authority,  and  consideration  for  all  who  are  in 


Alger. 


1  Smiles. 


2  Montaigne. 


8  Farrar. 


414 


MAN    AND   HIS   KELATIONS. 


dependence;  veneration  for  the  good,  mercy  to  the  evil,  sym- 
pathy with  the  weak;— if  you  mean,  in  a  word,  that  service 
which  is  defined-  in  the  liturgy  of  the  English  Church  to  be 
"perfect  Freedom,'^  why  do  you  name  this  by  the  same  word  by 
which  the  luxurious  mean  license,  and  the  reckless  mean  change; 
by  which  the  rogue  means  rapine,  and  the  fool  equality;  by 
which  the  proud  mean  anarchy,  and  the  malignant  mean  vio- 
lence? Call  it  by  any  name  rather  than  this,  but  its  best  and 
truest  test  is.  Obedience.^ 

There  can  be  no  permanent  peace  for  man  until  he  has  learned 
both  in  theory  and  practice  the  great  lesson  of  submission  to  the 
necessary  limits  which  hedge  him  in  on  every  side,  and  to  the 
inevitable  disappointments  he  must  meet  at  every  step  of  his  life. 
But  when  at  last,  be  it  early  or  be  it  late,  he  has  really  assim- 
ilated this  profound  truth,  and  transmuted  it  into  instinctive 
habit,  no  matter  what  fortunes  befall  him,  they  Avill  both  find 
and  leave  him  contented,  serene,  and  trustful.^ 

Who  is  a  Gentleman?— What  fact  more  conspicuous  in 
modern  history  than  the  creation  of  the  gentleman  ?  Chivalry  is 
that,  and  loyalty  is  that,  and,  in  English  literature,  half  the 
drama,  and  all  the  novels,  from  Sir  Philip  Sidney  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  paint  this  figure.^ 

Two  great  errors,  coloring,  or  rather  discoloring,  severally,  the 
minds  of  the  higher  and  lower  classes,  have  sown  wide  dissension, 
and  wider  misfortune,  through  the  society  of  modern  days. 
These  errors  are  in  our  modes  of  interpreting  the  word  "  gen- 
tleman.'' 

Its  primal,  literal,  and  perpetual  meaning  is  "a  man  of  pure 
race,"  well  bred,  in  the  sense  that  a  horse  or  dog  is  well  bred. 

The  so-called  higher  classes,  being  generally  of  purer  race 
than  the  lower,  have  retained  the  true  idea,  and  the  convictions 


CULTURE. 


415 


associated  with  it;  but  are  afraid  to  speak  it  out,  and  equivo- 
cate about  it  in  public;  this  equivocation  mainly  proceeding 
from  their  desire  to  connect  anotlier  meaning  with  it,  and 
a  false  one; — that  of  "a  man  living  in  idleness  on  other 
peoples'  labor;"  —  with  which  idea  the  term  has  nothing  what- 
ever to  do. 

The  lower  classes,  denying  vigorously,  and  with  reason,  the 
notion  that  a  gentleman  means  an  idler,  and  rightly  feeling  that 
the  more  any  one  works,  the  more  of  a  gentleman  he  becomes, 
and  is  likely  to  become,  have  nevertheless  got  little  of  the  good 
they  otherwise  might  from  the  truth,  because,  with  it,  they 
wanted  to  hold  a  falsehood, — namely,  that  race  w'as  of  no  conse- 
quence. It  being  precisely  of  as  much  consequence  in  man  as  it 
is  in  any  other  animal. 

The  nation  can  not  truly  prosper  till  both  these  errors  are 
finally  got  quit  of.  Gentlemen  have  to  learn  that  it  is  no  part 
of  their  duty  or  privilege  to  live  on  other  people's  toil.  They 
have  to  learn  that  there  is  no  degradation  in  the  hardest  manual, 
or  the  humblest  servile,  labor,  when  it  is  honest.  But  that 
there  u  degradation,  and  that  deep,  in  extravagance,  in  bribery, 
in  indolence,  in  pride,  in  taking  places  they  are  not  fit  for,  or  in 
coining  places  for  which  there  is  no  need.  It  does  not  disgrace 
a  gentleman  to  become  an  errand  boy,  or  a  day  laborer ;  but 
it  disirraces  him  much  to  become  a  knave  or  a  thief.  And 
knavery  is  not  the  less  knavery  because  it  involves  large  inter- 
ests, nor  theft  the  less  theft  because  it  is  countenanced  by  usage, 
or  accompanied  by  failure  in  undertaken  duty.  It  is  an  incom- 
parably less  guilty  form  of  robbery  to  cut  a  purse  out  of  a  man's 
pocket  than  to  take  it  out  of  his  hand,  on  the  understanding 
that  you  are  to  steer  his  ship  up  channel,  when  you  do  not  know 
the  soundings. 


1  Ruskin. 


■  Alger. 


3  Emerson. 


416 


MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


CULTURE. 


417 


On  the  otlicr  hand,  the  lower  orders,  and  all  orders,  have  to 
learn  that  every  vicious  habit  and  chronic  disease  communicates 
itself  by  descent;  and  that  bv  puritv  of  birth  the  entire  svsteni 
of  the  human  body  and  soul  may  be  gradually  elevated,  or,  by 
recklessness  of  birth,  degraded ;  until  there  shall  be  as  much 
difference  between  the  well-bred  and  ill-bred  human  creature 
(whatever  pains  be  taken  with  their  education)  as  between  a 
wolf-hound  and  the  vilest  mongrel  cur.  And  the  knowledge 
of  this  great  fact  ought  to  regulate  the  education  of  our  youth, 
and  the  entire  conduct  of  the  nation.^ 

Education  begins  the  gentleman,  but  reading,  good  company, 
and  reflection  must  finish  him.^ 

A  beautiful  behavior  is  better  than  a  beautiful  form  ;  it  mves 
a  higlier  pleasure  than  statues  or  pictures ;  it  is  the  finest  of  the 
finest  arts.^ 

A  gentleman  is  a  rarer  thing  than  some  of  us  think  for. 
Which  of  us  can  jioint  out  many  such  in  his  circle — men  whose 
aims  are  generous,  whose  truth  is  constant  and  elevated  ;  who 
can  look  the  world  honestly  in  the  face,  with  an  equal  manly 
sympatliy  for  the  great  and  the  small  ?  We  all  know  a  hun- 
dred whose  coats  are  well  made,  and  a  score  who  have  excellent 
manners;  but  of  gentlemen,  how  many?  Let  us  take  a  little 
scrap  of  paper  and  each  make  out  his  list.* 

A  Christian  is  the  Almighty's  gentleman  ;  a  gentleman,  in  the 
vulgar,  superficial  way  of  understanding  the  word,  is  the  deviPs 
Christian.^ 

For  what,  I  pray,  is  a  gentleman  ?  what  properties  hath  he  ? 
what  qualities  are  characteristical  or  peculiar  to  him,  whereby  he 
is  distinguished  from  others  and  raised  above  the  vulgar?  Are 
they  not  especially  two,  courage  and  courtesy?  which  he  that 
wanteth  is   not  otherwise  than  equivocally  a  gentleman,  as  an 


image  or  carcass  is  a  man  ;  without  which  gentility,  in  a  con- 
spicuous degree,  is  no  more  than  a  vain  show  or  an  empty  name.' 

A  gentleman's  first  characteristic  is  that  fineness  of  structure 
in  the  body,  which  renders  it  capable  of  the  most  delicate  sensa- 
tion ;  and  of  structure  in  the  mind  which  renders  it  capable  of 
the  most  delicate  sympathies — one  may  say,  simply,  ^^  fineness  of 
nature.''  This  is,  of  course,  compatible  with  heroic  bodily 
strength  and  mental  firmness;  in  fact,  heroic  strength  is  not 
conceivable  without  such  delicacy.  P'lcphantine  strength  may 
drive  its  wav  throuo:h  a  forest  and  feel  no  touch  of  the  bou<2:hs ; 
but  the  white  skin  of  Homer's  Atrides  would  have  felt  a  bent 
rose-leaf,  yet  subdue  its  feeling  in  glow  of  battle,  and  behave 
itself  like  iron.  I  do  not  mean  to  call  an  elephant  a  vulgar 
animal;  but  if  you  think  about  him  carefully,  you  will  find  that 
his  r.on-vulgarity  consists  in  such  gentleness  as  is  possible  to 
elephantine  nature  ;  not  in  his  insensitive  hide,  nor  in  his  clumsy 
foot ;  but  in  the  wav  he  will  lift  his  foot  if  a  child  lies  in  his 
way;  and  in  his  sensitive  trunk,  and  still  more  sensitive  mind, 
and  capability  of  pique  on  points  of  honor. 

And,  though  rii^^htness  of  moral  conduct  is  ultimatelv  the  irreat 
purifier  of  race,  the  sign  of  nobleness  is  not  in  this  rightness  of 
moral  conduct,  but  in  sensitiveness.  When  the  make  of  the 
creature  is  fme,  its  temptations  are  strong,  as  well  as  its  percep- 
tions ;  it  is  liable  to  all  kinds  of  impressions  from  without  in 
their  most  violent  form ;  liable,  therefore,  to  be  abused  and  hurt 
by  all  kinds  of  rough  things  which  would  do  a  coarser  creature 
little  liarm,  and  thus  to  fall  into  frightful  wrong  if  its  fate  will 
have  it  so.  Thus  David,  coming  of  gentlest  as  well  as  royalist 
race,  of  Ruth  as  well  as  of  Judah,  is  sensitiveness  through  all 
flesh  and  spirit ;  not  thai  his  comj3assion  will  restrain  him  from 
murder  when  his  terror  urges  him  to  it;  nay,  he  is  driven  to  the 


>  Ruskln. 


»  Locke. 


'  Emerson. 


Thackeray. 


6  Archdeacon  Hare. 


28 


■^  Dr.  Barrow. 


V, 


418 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


murder  all  the  more  bv  his  sensitiveness  to  the  shame  which 
otlierwise  threatens  him.  But  when  his  own  story  is  told  him 
under  a  disguise,  though  only  a  lamb  is  now  concerned,  his  pas- 
sion about  it  leaves  him  no  time  for  thought.  ''  The  man  shall 
^]ie" — note  the  reason — ^'because  he  had  no  pity.''  He  is  so 
ea^-er  and  indignant  that  it  never  occurs  to  him  as  strange  that 
Nathan  hides  the  name.  This  is  true  gentleman.  A  vulgar  man 
would  assuredly  have  been  cautious,  and  asked  ''  w  ho  it  was.^' 
Hence  it  will  follow  that  one  of  the  probable  signs  ef  high  breed- 
ing in  men  generally  will  be  their  kindness  and  mercifulness, 
these  always  indicating  more  or  less  fineness  of  make  in  the 
mind,  and  miserliness  and  cruelty  the  contrary.^ 

AViio  IS  A  Lady? — Examples  of  ladyhood  should  not  be 
sought  in  the  Sultan's  seraglio,  for  ladyhood  implies  independ- 
ence of  spirit  and  womanly  self-respect,  with  ablcncss  for  self- 
direction  ;  nor  w^ould  one  look  for  the  higher  illustrations  in  a 
communitv  coarse  and  unfashioned,  for  ladyhood  is  an  emanation 
from  the  heart,  subtilized  by  culture.  Xor  would  you  be  likely 
to  come  upon  the  finer  type  among  the  rings  of  the  garish,  bedi- 
zened, recurrent  whirl  of  fashion ;  for  a  continued  blaze  of  pub- 
licitv  is  no  more  favorable  to  the  i^rowth  of  ladyhood  than  is  gas- 
licrht  to  the  ripening  of  rose-buds.  Ladies  of  the  purest  water 
hesitate  not  to  enter  Broadway,  but  they  neither  seek  nor  enjoy 
an  ostentatious  thoroughfare.  The  glare  of  its  gaze,  if  too  often 
submitted  to,  dries  the  aurora!  moisture  which  glistens  on  the 
countenance  of  ladyhood— aye,  glistens  when  years  have  pinched 
the  smoothness  of  outward  beauty. 

Only  through  example  and  authority  can  the  lady  be  unfolded. 
The  earthly  angel  of  girlhood  is  matronly  womanhood,  ever 
hovering  near  its  trust.  Youth,  permitted  to  be  unbound  and 
irreverent,  runs  into  excesses,  which   sap  its  chasteness  and  its 


CULTURE. 


419 


strength.  Of  adolescence  maturity  is  the  guardian  appointed  by 
nature  ;  and  nature  ever  punishes  with  imprisonment  a  breach  of 
her  mandates.  The  guardianship  of  matrons  over  girls  is  the 
guardianship  of  their  freedom,  and  freedom  not  thus  guarded 
carries  a  latent  chain  in  its  temporary  license. 

Any,  even  the  slightest,  decrement  of  modesty  lays  a  weight 
upon  the  spring  of  ladyhood,  whose  essence  is  a  refined  womanlv 
self-consciousness.  Nature's  choicest  product  is  woman ;  and 
modesty  being  the  interior  fount  that  suffuses  her  with  spiritual 
bloom,  ladyhood,  as  the  consummate  flower,  the  florescent  acme 
of  womanhood,  a  distillation  from  its  superlatives,  draws  from 
this  fount  a  perennial  freshness.  Thence,  the  wealthiest  dower 
wherewith  a  maiden  can  enter  womanhood  is  modest  reserve. 
From  this  deep,  clear,  sparkling  source  are  recruited  all  the  femi- 
nine virtues  of  her  life.  We  say  modest  reserve ;  for  there  is  a 
cold  and  a  proud  reserve,  and  these  are  barren.  Modesty  implies 
warmth  and  a  living  store  of  power;  denotes  impulses,  emotions, 
desires,  to  be  directed,  protected,  controlled;  and  reserve  be- 
tokens capacity  to  protect  and  control  this  palpitating  material 
of  conduct. 

All  integrants  of  being,  the  low  and  higher, 
The  lords  of  work,  the  visionary  powers. 
Leap  with  the  lightnings  of  a  holier  fire, 

in  a  woman  whose  speech   and  bearing  are  ever  thus  guarded. 
A  lady  of  the  highest  type  is  the  unmatched 

Delight  of  whate'er  lives  and  wills  and  loves, 
The  central  majesty  to  all  that  moves ; 

and,  to  be  this,  her  life  must  be  steadied,  refreshed,  empowered 
by  modest  reserve. 


1  Ruskin. 


420 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


If  the  nest  wherein  ladyl.ood  is  hatched  be  modesty,  out  of 
beauty,  spiritual   beauty,  are   wrought  the  wings  wherewith  it 
.oars  to  its  serene  dominance.     Of  the  higher  type  of  ladyhood 
,„ay  always  be  said  what  Steele  said  of  Lady  Elizabeth  Hastings, 
that  «  unaffected  freedom  and  conscious  innocence  gave  her  the 
attendance  of  the  graces  in  all  her  actions."     At  its  highest, 
bdvhood  implies  a  spirituality  made  manifest  in  poetic  grace. 
From  the  lady  there   exhales  a  subtler   magnetism.     Uncon- 
sciously  she    circles   herself  with   an    atmosphere   of  unrufSed 
stren-th,  which,  to  those  who  come  into  it,  give  confidence  and 
repose.     Within  her  influence  the  diffident  grow  self-possessed, 
the  impudent  arc  checked,  the  inconsiderate  admonished;  even 
the  rude  are  constrained  to  be  mannerly,  and  the  refined  are 
perfected;  all  spelled  unawares  by  the  charm  of  the  flexible  d.g- 
nitv,  the  commanding  gentleness,  the  thorough  womanliness  of 
her  look,  speech,  and  demeanor.     A  sway,  is  this,  purely  spirit- 
ual      Every  swav,  every   legitimate,  every  enduring  sway,  is 
spiritual,  a  regnancy  of  light  over  obscurity,  of  light  over  brutality. 
The  only  real  gains  we  ever  make  are  spiritual  gains,— a  further 
subjection  of  the  gross  to  the  incorporal,  of  body  to  soul,  of  the 
animal  to  the  human.     The  finest,    the   most   characteristic  acts 
of  a  lady  involve  a  spiritual  ascension,  a  going  out  of  herself. 
In  her  bcin-  and  bearing,  patience,  benignity,  generosity,  are  the 
.races  that  give  shape  to  the  virtues  of  truthfulness.      In  the 
radiant  reality  of  ladyhood  the  artificial  and  the  conventional  are 
„.u-ht.     Different  from,  opposite  to,  the  supori^sitions  of  art, 
or  the  dictates  of  mode,  is  the  culture  of  the  innate,  the  unfolding 
of  the  living;  as  diflerent  as  the  glow  of  health  is  from  the  cos- 
metic stain  that  would  counterfeit  its  tint.' 


>  Calvert. 


TIHl  e  M  hB 


Oi^iFi  a,Y  ILit 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


Domestic  happiness  is  the  end  of  almost  all  our  pursuits,  and  the  common  reward  of 
all  our  pains.  When  men  find  themselves  forever  barred  from  this  delightful  fruition 
.    .    .    they  become  bad  subjects,  bad  relations,  bad  friends,  and  bad  men.  — Fieldin*;. 

WIND  and  water  waiider  round  the  world,  and  grow 
fresher  for  the  journey.  The  lost  diamond  knows 
no  difference  between  the  dust  where  it  lies  and  the  bosom 
from  which  it  fell ;  but  everything  that  has  vitality  requires  a 
home.  Everything  that  lives  seeks  to  establish  permanent  rela- 
tions with  that  upon  which  it  must  depend  for  supplies.  Every 
plant  and  every  animal  has  its  country,  and  in  that  country  a 
favorite  location,  where  it  finds  that  which  will  give  it  the 
healthiest  development  and  the  most  luxurious  life.  Maize  will 
not  grow  in  England,  and  oranges  are  not  gathered  in  Lapland. 
The  white  bear  pines  and  dies  under  the  equator,  and  the  lion 
refuses  to  live  in  polar  latitudes.  The  elm  of  a  century  may  not 
be  transplanted  with  safety,  unless  a  large  portion  of  its  home  be 
taken  with  it.  In  jungles  and  dens,  in  root-beds  and  parasitic 
footholds,  in  rivers  and  brooks  and  bays,  in  lakes  and  seas,  in 
cabins  and  tents  and  palaces — everything  that  lives,  from  the 
lowest  animal  and  plant  to  the  lordliest  man — has  a  home,  a 
place,  or  a  region,  wMth  w^hose  resources  its  vitality  has  estab- 
lished relations.     ...     A  homeless  man,  or  a  man  hopeless 

(421) 


422 


MAN   AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


of  home,  is  a  ruined  man.  A  man  who,  in  the  struggles  of  life, 
has  no  home  to  retire  to,  in  fact  or  in  memory,  is  without  life's 
best  rewards  and  life's  best  defenses.  Awav  from  home,  shut  off 
from  the  income  of  those  influences  which  feed  his  life,  from 
those  relations  along  which  the  life  of  God  is  accustomed  to 
flow  to  him,  a  man  stands  exactly  where  evil  will  the  most  read- 
ily get  the  mastery  of  him.  A  man  is  always  nearest  to  his  good 
when  at  home,  and  farthest  from  it  when  away. 

One  of  the  very  first  duties  of  life,  I  say  again,  is  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  home  which  shall  be  to  us  and  to  our  children  the 
fountain  and  reservoir  of  our  best  life ;  and  this  home  should  be 
a  permanent  one,  if  possible.  Home  is  the  center  of  every  true 
life,  the  place  where  all  sweet  affections  are  brought  forth  and 
nurtured,  the  spot  to  which  memory  clings  the  most  fondly,  and 
to  which  the  wanderer  returns  most  gladly.  It  is  worth  a  life  of 
care  and  labor  to  win  for  ourselves,  and  the  dear  children  whom 
we  love  as  ourselves,  a  home  whose  influence  shall  enrich  us  and 
them  while  life  lasts.  God  pity  the  poor  child  who  can  not  asso- 
ciate his  youth  with  some  dear  spot  where  he  drank  in  life's 
freshness,  and  shaped  the  character  he  bears ! 

The  choosing  of  a  home  is  one  of  the  most  momentous  steps 
a  man  is  ever  called  upon  to  make.  If  wo  plant  a  tree  with  the 
hope  to  sit  some  time  beneath  its  shadow,  and  eat  of  its  fruit,  we 
do  not  plant  it  in  the  sand,  or  in  a  stream  of  running  water.  It 
is  astonishing  to  see  the  multitudes  that  thoughtlessly  plant  their 
homes  in- moral  and  intellectual  deserts — to  see  them  building 
houses  where  there  is  no  society,  or  only  that  which  is  bad, 
where  the  church-bell  is  never  heard,  and  where  a  fertile  and 
fruitful  home  life  is  absolutely  impossible.  For  money  men  will 
rush  from  the  healthful  and  pleasant  country  village  to  the  fever- 
ish and  stony  city,  or  forsake  a  thousand  privileges  that  are  val- 


^ 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


423 


uable  beyond  all  price,  and  settle  in  a  wilderness  where  the 
degeneration  of  their  home  is  certain.  Circumstances  may  force 
one  into  locations  like  these,  but  they  can  only  be  regarded  as 
calamitous.  Communion  is  the  law  of  growth,  and  homes  only 
thrive  w4iere  they  sustain  relations  with  each  other. 

The  sweetest  type  of  heaven  is  home — nay,  heaven  itself  is 
the  home  for  whose  acquisition  we  are  to  strive  the  most  strongly. 
Home,  in  one  form  and  another,  is  the  great  object  of  life.  It 
stands  at  the  end  of  every  day's  labor,  and  beckons  us  to  its 
bosom,  and  life  would  be  cheerless  and  meaningless  did  we  not 
discern  across  the  river  that  divides  it  from  the  life  beyond 
glimpses  of  the  pleasant  mansions  prepared  for  us.^ 

That  word  ho7ne  always  sounds  like  poetry  to   me.     It  rings 
like  a  poal  of  bolls  at  a  wedding,  only  more  soft  and  sweet,  and 
it  chimes  deeper  into  the  ears  of  my  heart.     It  does  not  matter 
whether  it   means  thatched   cottage   or  manor    house,  home  is 
home;  be  it  ever  so  homely,  there  is  no  place  on  earth  like  it. 
Green  grows  the  house-leek  on  the  roof  forever,  and  let  the  moss 
flourish  on  the  thatch.     Sweetly  the  sparrows  chirrup  and  the 
swallows  twitter  around  the  chosen  spot  which  is  my  joy  and 
rest.       Every  bird    loves    its    own    nest;    the  owls    think    tlie 
old  ruins  the  fairest  spot  under  the   moon,  and  the  fox  is  oi' 
opinion  that  his  hole  in  the  hill  is  remarkablv  cozv.     When  mv 
master's  nag  knows  that  his  head   is   toward    home,  he  wants 
no  whip,  but  thinks  it  best  to  put  on  all    steam;    and  I  am 
always  of  the  same  mind,  for  the  way  home,  to  me,  is  the  best 
bit  of  road  in  the  country.     I  like  to  see  the  smoke  out  of  my 
own  chimney   better  than   the   fire   on   another  man's    hearth ; 
there's  something  so  beautiful  in  the  way  in  which  it  curls  up 
among  the  trees.     Cold  potatoes  on  my  own  table  taste  better 
than  roast  meat  at  my  neighbor's,  and  the  honeysuckle  at  my 

1  Holland. 


^ 


MiMMi 


424 


MAN   AND    Ills    RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


425 


own  door  is  the  sweetest  I  ever  smell.  When  you  are  out 
friends  do  their  best,  but  still  it  is  not  home.  "  Make  yourself 
at  home/'  they  say,  because  everybody  knows  that  to  feel  at 
home  is  to  feel  at  ease. 

East  and  west, 
Home  is  best.^ 

Is  there  any  calamity  more  grave,  or  that  more  invokes  the  best 
good  will  to  remove  it,  than  this?— to  go  from  chamber  to  cham- 
ber, and  sec  no  beauty;  to  find  in  the  housemates  no  aim;  to 
hear  an  endless  chatter  and  blast;  to  be  compelled  to  criticise ; 
to  hear  only  to  dissent  and  to  be  disgusted  ;  to  find  no  invitation 
to  what  is  good  in  us,  and  no  receptacle  for  what  is  wise — this  is 
a  great  price  to  pay  for  sweet  bread  and  warm  lodging— being 
defrauded  of  affinity,  of  repose,  of  genial  culture,  and  the  inmost 
presence  of  beauty.  ...  A  house  should  bear  witness  in 
all  its  economy  that  human  culture  is  the  end  to  which  it  is  built 
and  *T-arnished.  It  stands  there  under  the  sun  and  moon  to  ends 
analo"-ous,  and  not  less  noble  than  theirs.^ 

I  never  saw  a  garment  too  fine  for  man  or  maid;  there  was 
never  a  chair  too  good  for  a  cobbler  or  cooper  or  king  to  sit  in, 
never  a  house  too  fine  to  shelter  the  human  head.  These  ele- 
ments about  us,  the  gorgeous  sky,  the  imperial  sun,  are  not  too 
good  for  the  human  race.  Elegance  fits  man.  But  do  we  not 
value  these  tools  of  housekeeping  a  little  more  than  they  are 
worth,  and  sometimes  mortgage  a  home  for  the  sake  of  the 
raaho^-anv  we  would  brinp;  into  it?  I  had  rather  eat  my  dinner 
off  the  head  of  a  barrel,  or  dress  after  the  fashion  of  John  the 
Baptist  in  the  wilderness,  or  sit  on  a  block  all  my  life,  than  con- 
sume all  myself  before  I  got  to  a  home,  and  take  so  much  pains 
with  the  outside  that  the  inside  was  as  hollow  as  an  empty  nut. 


Beauty  is  a  great  thing,  but  beauty  of  garments,  house,  and 
furniture,  is  a  very  tawdry  ornament  compared  with  domestic 
love.  All  the  elegance  in  the  world  will  not  make  a  home,  and 
I  would  give  more  for  a  spoonful  of  real  hearty  love  than  for 
whole  ship-loads  of  furniture,  and  all  the  gorgeousness  that  all 
\\i^  upholsterers  of  the  world  could  gather  together.' 

WOMAX.— The  organization  of  the  home  depends,  for  the 
most  part,  upon  woman.  She  is  necessarily  the  mana^rer  of 
every  family  and  household.  How  much,  therefore,  must  de- 
pend upon  her  intelligent  co-operation!  Man's  life  revolves 
round  woman.  She  is  the  sun  of  his  social  system.  She  is  the 
queen  of  domestic  life.  The  comfort  of  every  home  mainlv 
depends  upon  her— upon  her  character,  her  temper,  her  power 
of  organization,  and  her  business  management.  A  man  may  be 
economical,  but  unless  there  be  economy  at  home  his  frugality 
will  be  comparatively  useless.  ''A  man  can  not  thrive,"  the 
proverb  says,  ^^  unless  his  wife  let  him.''^ 

I  have  always  said  it — nature  meant  to  make  woman  as  its 
masterpiece."^ 

Honor  to  women  !  They  twine  and  weave  the  roses  of  heaven 
into  the  life  of  man;  it  is  they  that  unite  us  in  the  fascinatintr 
bonds  of  love ;  and,  concealed  in  i\\(i  modest  veil  of  the  Graces, 
they  cherish  carefully  the  extcj-nal  fire  of  delicate  feeling  with 
holy  hands.^ 

There  is  a  deep  to  which  reason  goes  down  with  its  flambeau 
in  its  hand  ;  there  is  a  height  to  which  imagination  goes  up,  on 
wide  wings  borne ;  and  that  is  the  deep  of  philosophy,  that  is 
the  height  of  eloquence  and  song.  But  there  is  a  deeper  depth, 
where  reason  goes  not,  a  higher  height,  where  imagination  never 
wanders;  and  that  is  the  deep  of  justice,  that  is  the  height  of 
love.     It  is  the  great  wide  heaven  of  religion.     Conscience  goes 


# 


Spurgeon. 


2  Emerson. 


1  Parker. 


2  Smiles. 


3  Lessing. 


<  SchiUer. 


426 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


427 


down  there,  affection  goes  up  tliere,  the  soul  lives  up  there. 
And  that  is  the  place  of  woman.  Woman  has  gone  deeper  in 
justice,  and  has  gone  higher  in  love  and  trust,  than  man  has 


irone. 


There  is  (uie  in  the  world  who  feels  for  him  who  is  sad  a 
keener  pang  than  he  feels  for  himsiplf;  there  is  one  to  whom 
reflected  joy  is  better  than  that  which  comes  direct;  there  is  one 
who  rejoices  in  another's  honor  more  than  in  any  which  is  one's 
own  ;  there  is  one  on  whom  another's  transcendent  excellence 
sheds  no  beam  but  that  of  delight ;  there  is  one  who  hides 
another's  infirmities  more  faithfully  than  one's  own;  there  is 
one  who  loses  all  sense  of  selj  in  the  sentiment  of  kindness, 
tenderness,  and  devotion  to  another— that  one  is  woman.^ 

Woman  is  superior  to  man  in  taste ;  her  songs  are  more  sweet 
and  tender;  her  epistles  more  bright  and  sparkling  ;  her  delinea- 
tions of  character  more  accurate,  and  her  descriptions  of  nature 
more  perfect.  Her  mind,  like  an  unruffled  sea,  reflects  the  forms 
and  hues  of  all  things  around  and  above  it. 

Chiefly  does  her  moral  sensibility  evince  superior  delicacy; 
her  views  of  right  are  generally  more  vivid,  and  her  moral 
impulses  more  powerful.  Pity,  gentleness,  and  compassion  are 
among  her  marked  characteristics.  The  stranger  who  is  driven 
from  the  abode  of  the  savage,  by  man,  may  hope  to  find  mercy 
from  woman.  It  is  woman  that,  in  her  pity,  can  administer 
relief  to  the  bleeding  or  dying  invader  of  her  country  at  the  risk 
and  even  at  the  cost  of  life— and  who,  at  the  couch  of  suffering 
or  of  death,  like  unto  a  wife,  a  sister,  or  a  mother  ?3 

For  woman  is  not  undevelop'd  man, 
But  diverse:    could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 
Sweet  love  were  slain,  whose  dearest  bond  is  this— 
Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference: 


Yet  in  tlie  long  years  liker  must  they  grow — 

The  man  bo  more  of  woman,  she  of  man ; 

He  gain  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  lieight, 

Nor  loose  tho  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the  world; 

She  mental  breadth,  nor  fail  in  childward   care: 

More  as  tho  double-natured  poet,  each; 

Till  at  last  she  set  Iierself  to  man 

Like  perfect  music  unto  noble   words; 

And  so  those  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  time. 

Sit  side  by  side,  full  summed  in  all  their  powers, 

Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To  be, 

Still  reverent  and  reverencing  each. 

Distinct  in  individualities. 

But  like  each  other,  ev'n  as  those  who  love: 

Then  comes  the  statelier  Eden  back  to  men ; 

Then  reiga  the  world's  great  bridals,  chaste  and  calm; 

Then  springs  tho  crowning  race  of  human  kind.^ 

To  those  of  US  who  hate  emphasis  and  exaggeration,  who 
believe  that  whatever  is  good  of  its  kind  is  good,  who  shrink 
from  love  of  excitement  and  love  of  sway,  who,  while  ready  for 
duties  of  many  kinds,  dislike  i)ledges  and  bonds  to  any — this 
talk  about  "Woman's  Sphere,"  "Woman's  Mission,"  and  all 
such  phrases  as  mark  the  present  consciousness  of  an  impending 
transition  from  old  conventions  to  greater  freedom,  are  most 
repulsive.^ 

In  the  matter  of  rights,  I  suppose  that  I  should  not  differ 
materially  with  any  strong-minded  woman;  but  I  have  alwavs 
observed  that  the  most  truly  lovable,  humble,  pure-hearted, 
God-fearing  and  humanity-loving  women  of  my  acquaintance 
never  say  anything  about  these  rights,  and  scorn  those  of  their 
sex  who  do.  I  have  never  known  a  woman  who  was  at  once 
satisfied  in  her  affections  and  discontented  with  her  woman's  lot 
and  her  woman's  work.      There  is  a  weak  place,  or  a  wrong 


1  Parker. 


2  Irving. 


'Bishop  Thomson. 


1  Tennyson. 


2  Margaret  Fuller. 


428 


MAN    AND    HIS    KELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


429 


place,  or  a  rotten  place,  in  the  character  or  nature  of  every  ^voman 
y,ho  stands  and  ho^vls  upon  the  spot  where  her  Creator  placed 
her  and  neglects  her  own  true  work  and  life  while  claiming  the 
right  to  do  the  work  and  live  the  life  of  man.  I  will  admit  all 
the  rights  that  such  a  woman  claims-all  that  I  myself  possess- 
if  she  will  let  me  alone,  and  keep  her  distance  from  n.c.  She 
may  sing  bass,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  her.     She  is  repulsive 

to  me.     She  offends  me. 

I  believe  in  women.     I  believe  they  are  the  sweetest,  purest, 
most  unselfish,  best  part  of  the  human  race.     I  have  no  doubt  on 
this  subject,  whatever.     They  do  sing  the  melody  in  all  human 
life,  as  well  as  the  melody  in  music.    They  carry  the  leading 
part,  at  leact  in  the  sense  that  they  are  a  step  in  advance  of  us, 
all  the  way  in  the  journey  heavenward.     I  believe  that  they  can 
not  move  very  widely  out  of  the  sphere  which  they  now  occupy, 
and  remain  as  good  as  they  now  are;  and  I  deny  that  my  belief 
rests  upon  any  sentimentality,  or  jealousy,  or  any  other  weak  or 
unworthy   basis.      A    man    who   has  experienced    a   mother's 
devotion,  a  wife's  self-sacrificing  love,  and  a  daughter's  affection, 
and  is  grateful  for  all,  may  be  weakly  sentimental  about  some 
thino^,  but  not  about  women.     He  would  help  every  woman  he 
loves  to  the  exercise  of  all  the  rights  which  hold  dignity  and 
happiness  for  her.      He  would  fight  that  she  might  have  those 
rights,  if  necessary  ;  but  he  would  rather  have  her  lose  her  voice 
entirely,  than  to  hear  her  sound  a  bass  note  so  long  as  a  demi- 

semi-quaver.' 

In  regard  to  one  of  the  vexed  questions  of  theday-the  rights 
of  womL-it  seems  to  me  that  what  women  demand  it  is  not  for 
men  to  withhold.  It  is  not  their  business  to  lay  down  the  law 
for  women.  That  women  must  lay  down  for  themselves.  I 
confess  that-although  I  must  herein  seem  to  many  of  my  read- 


1  Holland. 


ers  old-fashioned  and  conservative — I  should  not  like  to  see  anv 
woman  I  cared  much  for  either  in  parliament  or  iu  an  anatomical 
class-room;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  feel  that  women  must  be 
left  free  to  settle  that  matter.  If  it  is  not  good,  good  women 
will  find  it  out,  and  recoil  from  it.  If  it  is  good,  then  God  give 
them  good-speed.  One  thing  they  have  a  right  to — :i  far  wider 
and  more  valuable  education  than  thev  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  receiving.  When  the  mothers  are  well  taught,  the  genera- 
tions will  grow  in  knowledge  at  a  fourfold  rate.  But  still  the 
teaching  of  life  is  better  than  all  the  schools,  and  common  sense 
than  all  learning.  This  common  sense  is  a  rare  gift,  scantier  in 
none  than  in  those  who  lay  claim  to  it  on  the  ground  of  follow- 
ing commonplace,  worldly,  and  prudential  maxims.^ 

"  It  was  because  you  were  out  of  sorts  with  the  world,  smart- 
ing with  the  wrongs  you  saw  on  every  side,  struggling  after 
something  better  and  higher,  and  siding  and  sympathizing  with 
the  poor  and  weak,  that  I  loved  you.  AVe  should  never  have 
been  here,  dear,  if  you  had  been  a  young  gentleman  satisfied  with 
himself  and  the  world,  and  likely  to  get  on  well  in  society." 

'^  Ah,  Mary,  it's  all  very  well  for  a  man;  it's  a  man's  business. 
But  why  is  a  woman's  life  to  be  made  wretched  ?  Whv  should 
you  be  dragged  into  all  nly  perplexities,  and  doubts,  and  dreams, 
and  struggles  ?" 

"  And  why  should  I  not  ?" 

'*  Life  should  be  all  bright  and  beautiful  to  a  woman.  It  is 
every  man's  duty  to  shield  her  from  all  that  can  vex,  or  pain,  or 
soil." 

"  But  have  women  different  souls  from  men?" 

''  God  forbid  !" 

"  Then  are  we  not  fit  to  share  your  highest  hopes?" 

"  To  share  our  highest  hopes !     Yes,  when  wc  have  anv.     But 


1  Macdonald. 


< 


430 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


the  mire  and  clay,  where  one  sticks  fast  over  and  over  again, 
with  no  high  hopes  or  high  anything  else  in  sight— a  man  must 
be  a  selfish  hrute  to  bring  one  he  pretends  to  love  into  all  that." 
"  Now,  Tom,"  she  said,  almost  solemnly,  ''  you  are  not  true 
to  yourself.  Would  you  p.irt  with  your  own  deepest  convic- 
tions? Would  you,  if  you  could,  go  hack  to  the  time  when  you 
cared  for  and  thought  about  none  of  these  things?" 

He  thought  a  minute,  and  then,  pressing  her  hand,  said: 
^'  No,  dearest,  I  would  not.  The  consciousness  of  the  dark- 
ness in  one  and  around  one  brings  the  longing  for  light.  And 
then  the  light  dawns— through  mist  and  fog,  perhaps,  but  enough 
to  pick  one's  w\iy  by."  He  stopped  a  moment,  and  then  added, 
'^and  shines  ever  brighter  into  the  perfect  day.     Yes,  I  begin  to 

know  it." 

''  Then,  why  not  put  me  on  your  own  level?  Why  not  let  me 
pick  my  way  by  your  side  ?  Can  not  a  woman  feel  the  wrongs 
that  are  going  on  In  the  world?  Can  not  she  long  to  sec  them 
set  right,  and  pray  that  they  may  be  set  right  ?  We  are  not 
meant  to  sit  In  fine  silks,  and  look  pretty,  and  spend  money,  any 
more  than  vou  are  meant  to  make  it,  and  cry  peace  where  there 
is  no  peace.  If  a  w^oman  can  not  do  much  herself,  she  can  honor 
and  love  a  man  who  can." 

He  turned  to  her,  and  bent  over  her,  and  kissed  her  forehead, 
and  kissed  her  lips.     She   looked  up  with  sparkling  eyes  and 

said  : 

"Am  I  not  right,  dear?" 

"  Yes,  vou  are  rio;ht,  and  I  have  been  false  to  my  creed.  You 
have  taken  a  load  off  my  heart,  dearest.     Henceforth  there  shall 

be  but  one  mind  and  one  soul  between  us.     You  have  made  me 

* 

feel  what  it  is  that  a  man  wants,  what  is  the  help  that  is  meet 
for  him." 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


431 


He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  kissed  her  again,  and  then  rose 
up,  for  there  was  something  within  him  like  a  moving  of  new 
life,  whkh  lifted  him  and  set  him  on  his  feet.  And  he  stood 
with  kindling  brow,  gazing  into  the  autumn  air,  as  his  heart 
went  sorrowing,  but  hopefully  "sorrowing,  back  through  all  the 
faultful  past."  And  she  sat  on  at  first,  and  watched  his  face, 
and  neither  spoke  nor  moved  for  some  minutes.  Then  she  rose, 
tco,  and  stood  bv  his  side : 


x\nd  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant, 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold ; 
And  so  across  the  hills  they  went, 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old.^ 

Love. — The  man  who  has  never  felt  the  influence  of  love  is 
like  one  who  lives  ever  in  gloomy  wdnter,  or  he  resembles  a  book 
that  never  gives  forth  a  pleasant  murmur,  a  dumb  bird  that  never 
sings,  or  a  withered  tree  whose  boughs  never  unfold  a  blossom 
to  the  sun.^ 

No  man  ever  forgot  the  visitations  of  that  power  to  his  heart 
and  brain  which  created  all  things  new;  which  was  the  dawn  In 
him  of  music,  poetry,  and  art ;  which  made  the  face  of  nature 
radiant  with  pur[)le  light;  the  morning  and  the  night  varied 
enchantments;  when  a  single  tone  of  one  voice  could  make  the 
heart  bound,  and  the  most  trivial  circumstance  associated  with 
one  form  is  put  in  the  amber  of  memory;  when  he  became  all 
eye  when  one  was  present,  and  all  memory  when  one  was 
gone.^ 

That  adoration  which  a  young  man  gives  to  a  woman  whom 
he  feels  to  be  greater  and  better  than  himself  is  hardlv  distin- 
guishable  from  religious  feeling.  What  deep  and  worthy  love 
is  so,  whether  of  woman  or  child  or  art  or  music?     Our  caresses, 


Hughes. 


2  Gessner. 


3  Emerson. 


SJ-^SSWTWBRWWSItaSSS 


432 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


433 


our  tender  words,  our  still  rapture  under  the  influence  of  autumn 
sunsets,  or  pillared  vistas,  or  ealm,  majestic  statues,  or  Beethoven 
symphonies-all  bring  with  them  the  consciousness  that  they  are 
n^ere  waves  and  ripples  in  an  unfathomable  ocean  of  love  and 
beautv ;  our  emotion  in  its  keenest  moment  passes  from  expres- 
sion i'nto  silence,  our  love  at  its  highest  flood  rushes  beyond  >ts 
object,  and  loses  itself  in  the  sense  of  diviue  mystery.' 

Love  one  human  being  purely  and  warmly,  and  you  wll  love 
all  The  heart  in  this  heaven,  like  the  wandering  sun,  sees 
uothing,  from  the  dewdrop  to  the  ocean,  but  a  mirror  which  it 

warms  and  fills.-  •    •    i-  n     p 

Lov.  is  instinct  with  activity,  it  can  not  be  idle ;  it  is  fall  ot 
ener.v  it  can  not  content  itself  with  littles;  it  is  the  well-spring 
of  heroism,  and  .reat  deeds  are  the  gushings  of  its  fountain  ;  it 
is  a  criant,  it  heapeth  mountains  upon  mountains,  and  thinhs  the 
pile  but  little;  it  is  a  mighty  mystery,  for  it  changes  bitter  into 
sweet;  it  calls  death  life,  and  life  death;  and  it  makes  pam  less 

painful  than  cnjoynient.^ 

Love  is  not  altogether  a  delirium,  yet  it  has  many  points  in 
common  therewith.  I  call  it  rather^  a  discerning  of  the  infinite 
in  the  finite,  of  the  ideal  made  real.^ 

How  i.  it  that  the  ]>oets  have  said  so  many  fine  things  about 
our  first  love,  so  few  about  our  latter  love?  Are  their  first 
poems  their  best,  <.r  are  not  those  the  best  which  come  from 
their  fuHer  thought,  their  larger  experience,  their  deeper-rooted 
affections?  The  boy's  flute-like  voice  has  its  own  spring  charm, 
but  the  man  should  yield  a  richer,  deeper  music.^ 

One  of  the  most  frequent  errors  we  all  commit  in  life  is  the 
valuing  a  thing  according  to  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  it.  And 
this  error  is  universal.  I  do  not  believe  anybody  is  free  from  )t. 
Xo  doubt  the  desire  of  overcoming  a  difficulty  was  implanted  in 


the  human  breast  for  very  good  reasons,  but  we  liave  carried 
this  desire  to  an  extreme ;  and  it  mostly  renders  us  l)lind  as  to 
the  real  value  of  the  object  we  pursue. 

In  love,  for  instance,  the  easiest  conquest  is  the  best.     I  know 
that  this  is  a  very  daring  Faying,  but  1  am  persuaded  that  it  is  a 
true  one.     The  love  which  soonest  responds  to  love— even  what 
we  call  'Move  at  first  sight  ^'— is  the  surest  love,  and  for  tliis 
reason,  that  it  does  not  depend  upon  any  one  merit  or  quality, 
but  embraces  in  its  view  the  whole  being.     That  is  the  love 
which  is  likely  to  last—incomprehensible,  undefinable,  unargua- 
ble about.     But  this  love  often  fails  to  satisfy  man  or  woman. 
And  he  or  she  pursues  that  which  is  difficult  to  obtain,  but  which, 
from  that  very  circumstance,  is  not  the  best  for  him  or  her.^ 

At  first  It  surprises  one  that  love  should  be  made  the  principal 
staple  of  all  the  best  kinds  of  fiction  ;  and  ])erhap.s  It  is  to  be 
regretted  that  It  Is  only  one  kind  of  love  that  I^  chiefly  depicted 
in  works  of  fiction.     But  that  love  Itself  h  the  most  remarkable 
thing  In  human  life  there  can  not  be  the  slightest  doubt.     For 
see  what  It  will  conquer.     It  Is  not  only  that  It  prevails  over 
selfishness,  but  it  has  the  victory  over  weariness,  tiresomeness, 
and  familiarity.     When  you  are  with  the  person  loved  you  have 
no  sense  of  being  bored.     This  humble  and  trivial  circumstance 
is  the  great  test,  the  only  sure  and  abiding  test,  of  love.     AVIth 
the  persons  you  do  not  love  you  are  never  supremely  at  your 
ease.     You  have  some  of  the  sensation  of  walking  upon  stilts. 
In  conversation  with  them,  however  much  you  admire  them  and 
are  Interested  In  them,  the  horrid  Idea  will  cross  your  mind  of, 
"What  shall  I  say  next?''     Converse  with  them  is  not  perfect 
association.     But  with  those  you  love,  the  satisfaction  hi  their 
presence  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  relation  of  the  heavenly  bodies 
to  one  another,  which,  In  their  silent  revolutions,  locc  none  of 


29 


1  George  Eliot.  2Richter. 


8  spurgeon.  *  Carlyle.  ^  George  Eliot 


1  Helps. 


4U 


MAN    AND    III3    KELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


435 


their  attractive  power.     The  sun  does  not  talk  to  the  workl,  but 

it  attracts  it !  ^ 

Many  young  ladies  indulge  in  very  nonsensical  opinions^  or, 
I  should  rather  say,  notions,  concerning  love.     They  foolishly 
fancy  themselves  bound  to  be  ^^smitten,"  to  "fall   in  love,"  to 
be  "  lovesick,"  Avith  almost  every  silly  idler  who  Avears  a  fashion- 
able coat,  is   tolerably  good-looking,  and  pays  them  particular 
attention.     Eeason,  judgment,  deliberation,   according   to  their 
fancies,  have  nolh'ng  to  do  with  love  :  hence,  they  yield  to  their 
feelings,  and  give  their  company  to  young  men,  regardless  of 
warning  advice  or  entreaty.     A  father's  sadness,  a  mother's  tears, 
are  treated  with  contempt,  and  often  with  bitter  retorts.     Their 
lovers  use  flattering  words,  and,  like  silly  moths  fluttering  round 
the  fatal  lamp,  they  allow  themselves  to  le  charmed  into  certain 
miserv.     Reader,  beware  of  such  examples ;    eschew  such  flilse 
notions !     Learn  that  your  affections  are  under  your  own  con- 
trol ;  that  pure  affection  is  founded  upon  esteem ;  that  estimable 
qualities  in  a  man  can  alone  secure  the  continuance  of  connubial 
love ;  that  if  these  are  not  in  him,  your  love  has  no  foundation, 
it  is  unreal,  and  will  fall,  a  wilted  flower,  as  soon  as  the  excite- 
ment of  youthful  passion  is  overpa.  t.     Restrain  your  affections, 
therefore,  with  vigor ;  it  will  cost  you  far  less  pain  to  stifle  them 
in  their  birth,  than  to  langui:;h  through  the  years  of  woe  which 
are  inseparable  from  an  unsuitable  marriage.^ 

The  love  that  dwells  in  one  man  is  an  angel,  the  love  in  the 
other  is  a  bird,  that  in  another  a  hog.  Some  would  count 
worthless  the  love  of  a  man  who  loved  everybody.  There 
would  be  no  distinction  in  being  loved  by  such  a  man!— and 
distinction,  as  a  guarantee  of  their  own  great  growth,  is  Avhat 
such  seek.  There  are  women  Avho  desire  to  be  the  sole  object  of 
a  man's  affection,  and  arc  all  their  lives  devoured  by  unlawful 


1  Ibid. 


2  V.'isc. 


jealousies.  A  love  that  had  never  gone  forth  uj^on  human 
being,  but  themselves,  would  be  to  them  the  treasure  to  sell  all 
that  they  might  buy.  And  tlie  man  who  bought  such  a  love 
might  in  truth  be  all  absorbed  therein  himself— just  because  he 
was  the  poorest  of  the  creatures— therefore  all  absorbed  in  the 
poorest  of  loves.  A  heart  has  to  be  taught  to  love,  and  its  first 
lesson,  however  learnt,  no  more  makes  it  perfect  in  love  than 
the  A  B  C  makes  a  savant.  The  man  who  loves  most  will  love 
best.  ■  The  man  who  thoroughly  loves  God  and  his  neighbor,  is 
the  only  man  who  will  love  a  woman  ideally.^ 

Courtship.— What  is  it  in  its  beginning  but  an  opportunity 
for  the  parties  to  ascertain  their  fitness  for  each  other?     What 
in  its  progress,  but  a  means  of  forming  and  strengthening  that 
genuine  affection,  which  is  the  true  basis  of  marriage?     With 
every  young  lady  the  paramount  question  concerning  him  who 
offers  her  particular  attentions,  ouglit  to  be,  "  Is  he  worthy  of 
my  love  ?"     Her  first  aim  should  be  to  decide  it.     She  should 
observe  him  well  and  thoughtfully— study  his  character   as  it 
may  be  expressed   in   his   countenance,   his  Avords,  spirit,  and 
acti(ms.     .     .     .     Heed  your  reason.     Keep  the  precious  love 
of  your  young  heart,  till  you  find  a  man  every  way  worthy  of 
it.     You  have  no  treasure  like  that  love.     Bestow  it  unworthily 
and  you  are   hopelessly  ruined.     Give  it  to  some  manly  heart, 
full  of  noble   qualities,   and   you   will  drink  joy   from    a  pure 
fountain.     If  no  such  heart  seeks  it,  then  let  it  remain  in  your 
own  breast,  reserved  for  heaven  alone.     Say  of  your  love 


It  is 


The  invaluable  diamond,  which  I  give 
Freely  away,  or  else,  forever  hid, 
Must  bury— like  the  noble-hearted  merchant, 
Who,  all  unmoved  by  the  Rialto's  gold 


1  Macdonald. 


A 


43$  MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 

Or  king'9  displeasure,  to  the  mighty  sea 

Gave  back  his  pearl-too  proud  to  part  with  it 

Below  its  price. 

The  human  "  heart  i«  deceitful  above  all  things,"  says  its  great 
Creator     Perhaps  it  is  never  more  inclined  to  conceal  itself 
than  in  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes.     Duplicity,  to  some  extent 
h  almost  universal  in  courtship.     Hence  follows  the  necess.ty  of 
the  utmost  caution  on  the  part  of  a  young  lady,  in  admitting  a 
lover  to  her  confidence.     The   value  she  places  on  her  punty 
must  be  very  trifling,  if  she  admits  a  stranger,  however  plausible 
his  manners,  or  however  specious  his  pretenses,  to  the  sacred 
intimacy  of  courtship,  without  some  unquestionable  assurances 
of  his  morality  and  respectability.     He  may  wear  the  garb  of  a 
gentleman,  he  may  use  the  most  courteous  language,  he   may 
profess  the  utmost  regard  for  virtue,  and  yet  be  a  villain  !     Be 
wary,  therefore,  of  an  entire  stranger,  who  professes  to  admire 
you      Demand  references,  ascertain  his  principles,  study  watch- 
fully his  spirit.     A  man  soon  exhibits  his  real  self  in  the  inter- 
change of  thought ;  and  the  chief  reason  why  so  many  women 
are  Cheated   by  seducers  is,  because   they  are   not  sufficiently 
anxious  to   know  the  true   characters  of  the   men  who   flatter 

them.     ...  ,     ,       r.        1 

The  man  whom  you  accept  as  your  suitor  should,  therefore,  be 

pure-minded,  sincere,  and  spotless  in  his  moral  character.     He 

should  be  a  self-deny!nrj  man,  rejecting  the  wine-cup,  tobacco, 

and  all  other  forms  of  intemperance.     If  any  single  vice  acts  the 

tj-rant  over  him,  it  is  not  safe  to  intrust  your  happiness  to  his 

keeping.     He  should  be  an  energetic  man,  or  he  will  sink  in  seas 

of  difficulty,  and  drag  you  down  to  cavernous  depths  of  sorrow. 

He  should  possess  a  cultivated  intellect,  otherwise  he  will  either 

keep  you  in  obscurity  or  subject  you  to  incessant  mortification 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


437 


by  his  ignorance.     He  should  be  industrious;  if  he  is  a  drone, 
he  will  pluck  down  ruin  on  your  habitation.     He  must  be  eco- 
nomical;  a  spendthrift  husband  will  sow  the  field  of  your  after 
life  with  the  seed  of  unknown  struggles  and  trials— with  thorns 
and  briers.     He  must  be  benevolent,  since  a  covetous  man,  who 
sacrifices  his  own  soul  at  the  shrine  of  the  gold  demon,  wiU  not 
hesitate  to  immolate  your  happiness  on  the  same  accursed  altar. 
He  must  not  be  a  proud  man,  for  pride  is  always  cruel,  selfish, 
remorseless.     He  should  not  be  clownish  on  the  one  hand,  nor 
foppish  on  the  other,  because  a  stupid  clown  and  a  conceited  fop 
are  alike  mortifying  to  the  sensibilities  of  every  woman  of  good 
sense.     He  should  not  be  deformed  or  badly  defeatured ;  I  do 
not  say  he  must  needs  be  handsome,  for  beauty  is  hr  from  being 
necessary  to  goodness,  yet  he  should  not  be  repulsive;  if  he  is 
so,  your  heart  will  recoil  from  him.     Above  all  things,  he  ought  • 
to  be  religious.     No  man's  character  is  reliable  if  his  virtues  are 
not  founded  on  reverence  and  love  for  his  Creator. 

Having  a  parent's  approval,  and  a  kindred  spirit  for  a  suitor, 
you  still  need  to  cultivate  caution  in  the  intimacies  of  courtship! 
While  you  avoid  all  coquettishness  of  spirit,  you  must  also  guard 
against  too   much  freedom.     Be  frank,  simple,  trustful  in  your 
intercourse,  but  avoid  all  boldness  on  your  own  part,  and  shrink 
from  the  least  approach  to  impropriety  on  his.     Do  not  permit 
your  lover  to  remain  in  your  company  later  than  ten  o'clock  in 
the  evening.     It    ought   to  make  a  young  lady  blush  even  to 
listen  to  a  proposal  to  sit  up  all,  or  nearly  all  night— an  ancient 
practice,  which,  I  am  pleased  to  know,  is  becoming  unfashion- 
able.    I  condemn  it,  because  it  is  wrong,  and  disgraces  the  par- 
ties in  their  own  estimation,  as  well  as  in  the  opinion  of  all  vir- 
tuous persons.     Your  conversation  ought,  also,  to  be  seasoned 
with  common  sense.     All  mere  soft,  silly  talk  about  love  should 


438 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


be  discarded  bv  sensible  young  persons.  Yo.i  and  your  suitor 
are  not  sillv  children,  but  intelligent  and  immortal  minds.  \  ou 
do  not  mee't  to  sigh  and  look  foolish  at  each  other,  but  to  grow 
into  a  high  and  holy  unity  of  mind  and  heart,  and  your  inter- 
course should  be  governed  by  this  exalted  purpose.' 

Never  content  vounself  with  the  idea  of  having  a  common- 
place wife      You  want  one  who  will  stimulate  you,  stir  you  up, 
keep  vou  moving,  show  you  your  weak  points,  and  make  some- 
thing  of  vou.     Don't  fear  that  you  can   not  get  such  a  wife,     i 
verv  well"  remember  the  reply  which  a  gentleman,  who  happened 
to  combine  the  qualities  of  wit  and  common  sense,  made  to  a 
voun--  man  who  expressed  a  fear  that  a  certain  young  lady  of 
■.reat^-eautv  and  attainments  would  dismiss  him  if  he  should 
Lcome  serious.     "My  friend,"   said  the  wit,  "infinitely  more 
beautiful   and  accomplished   women   than   she  is  have   married 
infinitelv  uglier  and  meaner  men  than  you  are."     And  such  is 
the  fact"     If  vou  arc  honest  aud  honorable,  if  your  character  is 
spotless,  if  vou  are  enterprising  and  industrious,  if  you  have  some 
.race  and  a  fair  degree  of  sense,  and  if  you  love  appreciatingly 
Ld  trulv,  vou  can  marry  almost  anybody  worth  your  having. 
So,  to  entourage  yourself,  carry  in  your  memory  the  above  aphor- 
ism   reduced  to  a  form  something  like  this:    "Infinitely  finer 
women  than  I  ever  expect  to  marry  have  loved  and  married  men 

infinitelv  meaner  than  I  am." 

The  apprehensions  of  women  are  finer  and  quicker  than  those 
of  men  With  equal  early  advantages,  the  woman  is  more  of  a 
woman  at  eighteen  than  a  man  is  a  man  at  twenty-one.  After 
marriage,  as  a  general  thing,  the  woman  ceases  to  acquire,  ^ow, 
I  do  not  say  that  this  is  necessary,  or  that  it  should  be  the  case, 
but  I  simply  state  a  general  fact.  Tlie  woman  is  absorbed  in 
family  cares,  or,  perhaps,  devotes  from  ten  to  twenty  years  to  the 


1  Wise. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


439 


bearing  and  rearing  of  children— the  most  dio-nified,  dclio-htful 
and  honorable  office  of  her  life.     This  consunus  her  time,  and, 
in  a  great   multitude  of  instances,  deprives   her  of  intellectual 
culture. 

In  the  meantime  the  man  is  out,  engaged  in  business.  He 
comes  in  daily  contact  with  minds  stronger  and  sharper  than  his 
own.  He  grows  and  matures,  and,  in  ten  years  from  the  date  of 
his  marriage,  becomes,  in  reality,  a  new  man.  Xow,  if  he  was 
so  foolish  as  to  marry  a  woman  because  she  had  a  i)retty  form 
and  face,  or  sweet  eyes,  or  an  amiable  disposition,  or  a  pleasant 
temper,  or  wealth,  he  will  find  that  he  has  passed  entirely  by  his 
wife,  and  that  she  is  really  no  more  of  a  companion  for  him  than 
a  child  would  be.  I  knoAv  of  but  few  sadder  sights  in  this  world 
than  that  of  mates  whom  the  passage  of  years  has  mis-mated.  A 
woman  ought  to  have  a  long  start  of  a  man,  and  then,  ten  to  one, 
the  man  will  come  out  ahead  in  the  race  of  a  long  life. 

I  suppose  that  in  every  young  man's  mind  there  exists  the 
hope  and  the  expectation  of  marriage.     When  a  young  man  pre- 
tends to  me  that  he  has  no  wish  to  marry,  and  that  he  never 
exi^ects  to  marry,  I  always  infer  one  of  two  things:    that  he  lies, 
and  is  really  very  anxious  for  marriage,  or  that  his  heart  l.as  been 
polluted  by  association  with  unworthy  women.     In  a  tliousand 
cases  we  shall  not  find  three  exceptions  to  this  rule.     A  voano- 
man  wlio,  with  any  degree  of  earnestness,  declares  that  he  intends 
never  to  marry,  confesses  to  a  brutal  nature  or  perverted  morals. 
Bat  how^  shall  a  good  wife  be  won?     I  know  that  men  natu- 
rally shrink  from  the  attemj^t  to  obtain  companions  who  are  their 
superiors:  but  they  will  find  that  really  intelligent  women,  who 
jDOssess  the  most  desirable  qualities,  are  uniformly  modest    and 
liold  their  charms  in  modest  estimation.     What  such  women  most 
admire  in  men  is  gallantry;  not  the  gdlantry  of  courts  and  f>ps, 


440 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


but  bol.lne.s,  courage,   devotion,  decision,  and  refined  civihty^ 
A  man's  l.earing  wins  ten  superior  ^vomen  ^vhere  lus  boots  and 
brains  ^vin  one.     If  a  man  stand  before  a  woman  with  respect  for 
himself  and  fearlessness  of  her,  his  suit  is  half  won.     The  rest 
may  safely  be  left  to  the   parties  most  interested.     Therefore 
never  be  afraid  of  a  woman.     Women  are  the  most  harmless  and 
agreeable  creatures  in  the  world,  jto  a  man  who  shows  that  he  has 
got  a  man's  soul  in  him.      If  you  have  not  the  spirit  in  you  to 
come  up  to  a  test  like  this,  you  have  not  that  in  you  which  most 
pleases  a  high-souled  woman,  and  yo.i  will  be  obliged  to  content 
yourself  with  the  simple  girl  who,  in  a  quiet  way,  is  endeavoring 

to  attract  and  fasten  you. 

But  don't  bo  in  a  hurry  about  the  matter.     Don't  get  mto  a 
feverish    longing   for    marriage.      It    isn't   creditable    to    you 
Especiallv  don't  imagine  that  any  disappointment  in  love  which 
takes  place  before  you  are  twenty-one  years  old  will  be  of  any 
material  damage  to  you.      The  truth  is,  that  before  a  man  is 
twentv-five  years  old  he  does  not  know  what  he  wants  himself. 
So  don't  be  in  a  hurry.     The  more  of  a  man  you  become,  and  the 
more  of  manliness  you  become  capable  of  exhibiting  in  your  asso- 
ciation with  women,  the  better  wife  you  will  be  able  to  obtain; 
and  one  vear's  possession  of  the  heart  and  hand  of  a  really  noble 
specimen  of  her  sex  is  worth  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  years 
possession  of  a  sweet  creature  with  two  ideas  in  her  head,  and 
nothing  new  to  say  about  either  of  them.     "  Better  fifty  years  of 
Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay."     So  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  I  say 
acain.      You   don't  want  a  wife  now,  and  you  have  not  the 
srightest  idea  of  the  kind  of  wife  you  will  want  by-and-by.     Go 
into  female  society  if  you  can  find  that  which  will  improve  you, 
but  not  otherwise.     You  can  spend  your  time  better.     Seek  the 
society  of  good  men.     That  is  often  more  accessible  to  you  than 


s-'«S!"ranw«wisBj«t!« 


■^!:''''9'!ffsm^-Ks:!^SSSS!fJS^sai^SSBSknuS!m''km-f: 


DOMESTIC  ASPECTS. 


441 


the  other,  and  it  is  through  that  mostly  that  you  will  find  your 
way  to  good  female  society.  .  .  .  One  thing  more  :  not  the 
least  important,  but  the  last  in  this  letter.  Xo  woman  without 
piety  in  her  heart  is  fit  to  be  the  companion  of  any  man.  You 
may  get,  in  your  wife,  beauty,  amiability,  sprightliness,  wit, 
accomplishments,  wealth,  and  learning,  but  if  that  wife  have  no 
higher  love  than  herself  and  yourself,  she  is  a  poor  creature.  She 
can  not  elevate  you  above  mean  aims  and  objects,  she  can  not 
educate  her  children  properly,  she  can  not  in  hours  of  adversity 
sustain  and  comfort  you,  she  can  not  bear  with  patience  your 
petulance  induced  by  the  toils  and  vexations  of  business,  and 
she  will  never  be  safe  against  the  seductive  temptations  of  gayety 
and  dress.^ 

Marriage. — The  maxim  is  current,  that  "marriage  is  a 
lottery."  It  may  be  so,  if  we  abjure  the  teachings  of  prudence; 
if  we  refuse  to  examine,  inquire,  and  think;  if  we  are  content  to 
choose  a  husband  or  a  wife  with  less  reflection  than  we  bestow 
upon  the  hiring  of  a  servant,  whom  we  can  discharge  any  day; 
if  we  merely  regard  attractions  of  face,  of  form,  or  of  purse,  and 
give  way  to  temporary  impulse  or  to  greedy  avarice — then,  in 
such  cases,  marriage  does  resemble  a  lottery,  in  which  you  may 
draw  a  prize,  though  there  are  a  hundred  chances  to  one  that  you 
will  only  draw  a  blank. 

But  we  deny  that  marriage  has  any  necessary  resemblance  to  a 
lottery.  When  girls  are  taught  wisely  how  to  love,  and  what 
qualities  to  esteem  in  a  companion  for  life,  instead  of  being  left 
to  gather  their  stock  of  information  on  the  subject  from  the 
fictitious  and  generally  false  personations  given  to  them  in  novels, 
and  when  young  men  accustom  themselves  to  think  of  the 
virtues,  graces,  and  solid  acquirements  requisite  in  a  wife,  with 
whom  they  are  to  spend  their  days,  and  on  whose  temper  and 


1  Holland. 


•*r«S«^«W«IH^S»M!^s» 


f!»iW!|WWg8»8WIIMiaai 


442 


MAN   AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


good  sense  the  .vhole  happiness  of  their  home  is  to  depend,  then 
it  will  be  found  that  there  is  very  little  of  the  -  lottery ''  in 
marriage;  and  that,  like  any  concern  of  business  or  of  life,  the 
man  or"  woman  who  judges  and  acts  wisely,  with  proper  foresight 
and  discrimination,  will  reap  the  almost  certain  consequences  m 
a  happy  and  prosperous  future.^ 

The  world  in  general  looks  simply  to  the  question  of  the  pru- 
dence or  improvidence  of  marriage,  and  whether  the  youP.g  people 

can  afford  to  marry.     .     .     • 

But  the  material  view  of  marriage  is  altogether  inferior  to  the 
moral  view.  Where  the  unhappiness  of  married  life  is  in  one 
instance  due  to  limited  means,  in  a  dozen  instances  it  is  due  to 
other  causes.  English  people  in  general  exaggerate  the  money 
difficultv,  and  underrate  the  moral  difficulty.  The  great  con- 
sideration which  a  man  has  to  face  is  not  whether  his  choice  will 
bring  poverty,  but  whether  it  has  been  a  right  choice  at  all. 
Happiness  in  married  life  is  not  very  much  affected  by  outward 
circumstances.  Charles  Dickens,  in  his  ^^  David  Copperfield," 
dwells  on  the  fact  that  "  there  is  no  incompatibility  like  that  of 

mind  and  purpose."     ... 

An  immense  amount  of  unhappiness  is  found  in  married  life. 
Ko  religious  person  can  have  any  true  basis  of  happiness  unless 
the  partner  is  religious.     There  may  be  the  deepest  happiness 
between  married  people  whose  lives  beat  harmoniously  to  the 
impulse  of  the  same  great  principles.     I  believe  also  that  there 
mav  be  a  great  amount  of  happiness  between  people  who  are  not, 
as  are  called,  believers,  when  their  minds  and  tastes  are  in  har- 
monv,  and  they  belong  to  the   same  order  of   life.     Unequal 
marriages  are  almost  uniformly  unhappy.     For  a  religious  per- 
son to  be  yoked  with  one  who  is  decidedly  irreligious  can  only 
be  provocative  of  the  keenest  misery. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


443 


It  is  misery  for  which  there  is  not  the  slightest  palliation, 
especially  for  the  woman.  When  we  hear  of  trouble  and  unhap- 
piness in  married  life,  the  usual  thing  said  is  that  there  are 
faults  on  both  sides.  Both  being  human,  that  can  be  well 
believed.  But,  in  looking  closely  at  the  history  of  such  eases, 
we  can  generally  see  that  the  fault  lies  originally  or  principally 
in  one  direction  or  another.  Self-will,  self-indulgence,  the 
despising  of  knowledge  and  reproof,  often  make  up  the  unamia- 
ble  and  unchristian  character  that  is  incompatible  with  happi- 
ness.    .     .     . 

It  is  this — the  irrevocable   nature  of   the  marriage  tie,  the 
consciousness  that   nothing  but    death,   which    it   were    almost 
murder  to  wish  for,  or  sin  that  is  w^orse  than  death,  can  dissolve 
that  tie— which,  far   more  than   any  pecuniary   considerations, 
should   make   men   pause   long  and    considerately   before    they 
marry.     The  whole  shape  and  color  of  life  are  determined  by 
this  transaction.     They  surround  a  man  with  a  network  of  cir- 
cumstances which  subjugates  him,  unless  in  the  case  of  a  lofty 
ideal  or  a  determined  character.     Jeremy  Taylor's  famous  apo- 
logue will  be  remembered  :     ''  The  stags  in  the  Greek  epigram, 
whose  knees  were  clogged  with  frozen  snow  upon  the  mountains, 
came  down  to  the  brooks  of  the  valleys,  hoping  to  thaw  their 
joints  with  the  waters  of  the  stream,  but  there  the  frost  over- 
took them,  and  bound  them  fast  in  ice  till  the  young  herdsmen 
took  them  in  their  strange  snare.     It  is  the  unhappy  chance  of 
men,  finding  many  inconveniences  on  the  mountains  of  sin<''le 
life,  they  descend  into  the  valleys  of  marriage  to  refresh  their 
troubles,  and  there  they  enter  into  fetters,  and  are  bound  to  sor- 
row by  the  cords  of  a  man's  or  a  woman's  peevishness."     . 

Neither,  on  the  simply  prudential  grounds,  is  the  pecuniary 
question  the  one  that  is  really  fundamental.     The  question  of 


1  Smiles. 


N     ' 


444 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


health  and  constitution  is  deeply  important.     A  little  conversa- 
tion with  the  officers  of  an  insurance  company  would  bo  highly 
beneficial  to  many  people  who  are  rushing  into  matrimony  with- 
out a  thought  of  consequences.     It  is  important  to  know  that 
there  is  no  constitutional  taint;  and,  even  when  such  a  taint  has 
been  very  slight,  right-minded  persons  have  thought  it  best  to 
abstain  from  marriage.     No  man  has  a  right  to  bring  children 
into  the  world  condemned  to  a  life  of  disease  and  a  premature 
death.     Moreover,  the  question  of  family  and  connections  are, 
1  will   not  sav  overpowering  considerations  to   determine  the 
character  of  a  marriage,  but  still  matters  of  deep  importance. 
A  just-minded  man  will  be  careful  of  the  interests  of  his  chil- 
dren yet  unborn.     For  the  same  reason  a  man  ought  to  be  very 
careful  what  kind  of  mother  he  is  about  to  give  his  children. 
The  nature  of  their  family  connection  will  be  of  the  highest 
importance  to  the  children  of  a  marriage.     Is  she  one  likely  to 
pray  for  them,  to  instruct  them,  to  give  them    generous    and 
liberal  ideas,  to  give  them  the  training  that  shall  be  elevated, 
graceful,  and  religious,  to  make  them  regard  their  parents  with 
intcnsest  love  and  gratitude  ?     .     .     . 

The  love  passages  in  the  life  of  Dr.  Hamilton  are  very  inter- 
esting.    .     .     •     He  writes  to  his /nnc^  • 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  fond  of  work,  and  that  you  have  a 
taste  for  music.  The  only  other  thing  about  which  I  am  anxious 
is  your  information.  The  world  is  full  of  accomplished  and 
i<.norant  women,  who  can  dance,  and  draw,  and  embroider,  but 
whose  company  is  far  more  irksome  than  the  solitary  confinement 
of  PentonviUe  prison.  If  you  have,  what  you  can  so  easily  get, 
a  well-furnished  mind  (by  adding  diligently  to  the  knowledge 
you  have  already  attained),  you  will  possess  what  few  of  your 
lady  sisters  have.     Two  hours  of  solid  reading  daily,  In  which  I 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


445 


would  gladly  be  a  sharer  on  the  days  I  am  at  'Willenhall,  would 
be  a  goodly  acquisition  in  the  course  of  a  year/'     .     .     . 

It  is  a  beautiful  and  instruetive  love-storv  which  we  read  in 
the  ^'Memoirs''  of  Henry  Venn  Elliott,  of  Brighton.  He 
asked  her  father  for  '^  a  jewel,  which,  though  unworthy  in  him- 
self, he  would  wear  most  delicately,  and  treasure  as  his  life." 
Mr.  Elliott's  own  letters  tells  the  story,  and  there  is  hardly  any 
prettier  story  in  any  book  of  fiction  than  that  gradually  revealed 
by  these  religious  letters. 

"I  have  made  my  proposals  to  Julia  Marshall,  and  am  ac- 
cepted by  the  parents,  if  Julia  consents.  She  will  see  me,  and 
then  decide.  It  was  a  bold  step  I  took.  But  my  mind  was  so 
agitated,  since  hope  sprang  up,  that  I  have  never  had  a  day's 
quiet  or  a  night's  usual  rest  since.  I  believe  I  am  following  my 
Lord's  gracious  guiding.  If  ever  I  committed  my  way  to  him, 
it  was  in  this  instance.  He  only  knows  how  it  will  end.  It 
has,  altogether,  been  a  wonderful  story." 

*^  Rejoice  with  me,"  he  says.  "Julia  has  accepted  me.  A 
few  hours  after  I  wrote  my  dejected  letter  to  my  beloved  mother, 
I  had  a  walk  of  two  hours  with  my  Julia,  and  instead  of  keep- 
ing me  in  long  suspense  and  probation,  she  generously  plighted 
her  j^recious  heart  in  exchange  for  mine.  IIow  joyful  was  I ! 
and  my  heart  at  this  moment  overflows  with  thankfulness  to 
God,  who  has  led  me  by  the  right  way  to  the  right  person." 

"  Deeply  as  I  have  loved  Julia,  and  highly  as  I  valued  her,  I 
find  every  day  fresh  and  fresh  reason  to  bless  God,  who  has  pro- 
vided for  me  such  a  treasure.  And  her  sentiments  are  so  just, 
so  holy,  so  pure,  so  gentle ;  all  her  behavior  is  so  modest  and 
winning;  her  heart  so  confiding  and  affectionate;  her  manner 
so  delicate  and  lady-like ;  her  mind  so  richly  furnished^  and  ro 
finely  constituted  in  its  original  powers,  that  I  find  in  her  noth- 


446 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ing  to  be  clmnged,  and  everything  to  be  loved.     She  Is,  I  do 
assure  you,  an  exquisite  creature ;  advanced  from  the  rudiments 
in  which  she  appeared  at  Brighton  to  a  mature  perfection,  not 
only  of  Christian  character,  but  also  of  manners  and  influence, 
Avhich  prove  her  to  be  most  richly  qualified  to  adorn  the  station 
Avhich  is  to  be  hers,  and  to  superintend  all  the  female  depart- 
ments of  my  church.     I  am,  I  confess,  in  danger  of  making  an 
idul  of  her,  but  I  pray  day  by  day  that  my  love  and  perpetual 
complaeency  in  her,  in  all  she  says,  in  all  she  does,  in  all  she 
appears,  may  be  submitted  and  consecrated  to  the  Lord.''  ^ 

He  that  hath  ^vife  and  children,  hath  given  hostages  to  for- 
tune ;  for  they  are  impediments  to  great  enterprises,  either  of 
virtue  or  misJhief.     .     .     .     Certainly,  Avife  and  children  are  a 
kind  of  discipline  of  humanity;  and  single  men,  though  they 
be   many  times   more   charitable,  because  their   means  are  less 
exhaust ;  yet,  on  the  other  side,  they  are  more  cruel  and  hard- 
hearted, good  to  make  severe  inquisitors,  because  their  tender- 
ness is  not  so  oft  called  upon.     Grave  natures,  led  by  custom, 
and  therefore  constant,  are  commonly  loving  husbands :  as  was 
said  of  Ulysses,  ^^  Yetulam  suain  prcotulit  immortalitati."    Cha>te 
Avomen  arc  often  proud    and  froward,  as  presuming  upon  the 
merit  of  their  chastity.     It  is  one   of  the  be.t  bonds,  both  of 
chastity  and  obedience,  in  the  ^vife,  if  she  think  her  husband 
wise;  which  she  wiU  never  do  if  she  find  him  jealous.     Wives 
are  young  men's  mistresses;  companions  for  middle  age;    and 
old  men's  nurses.     So  as  a  man  may  have  a  quarrel  [an  excuse] 
to  marry  when  he  will.     But  yet  he  wa.^  reputed  one  of  the  wise 
men,  that   made   answer  to  the  question,  when  a  man  should 
marry  ?     "A  young  man  not  yet,  an  elder  m.an  not  at  all."^ 

I  am  veril/  persuaded  that  whatever  is  delightful  in  human 
life,  is  to  be  enjoyed  in  greater  perfection  in  the  married  than  in 


DOMESTIC    A3PECTS. 


447 


the  single  condition.     lie  that  has  this  passion  in  perfection,  in 
occasions  of  joy,  can  say  to  himself,  besides  his  own  satisfaction, 
"How   hapi)y   will   this    make    my  wife    and   children!"'    upon 
occurrences  of  distress,  or  danger,  can   comfort  hiniself,  "  Cut 
all  this  while  my  wife  and  children  are  safe."     There  is  some- 
thin^r  In  it  that  doubles  satisfactions,  because  others  j^artlcipate 
them;    and  dispels  afflictions,  because  others  are  exempt  from 
them.     All  who  arc  married  without  this  relish  of  their  circum- 
stance, arc  in  either  a  tasteless  indolence  and  negligence  which 
is  hardly  to  he  attained,  or  else  live  in  the  hourly  repetition  of 
sharp  a:iswers,   eager  upbraidings,*  and   distracting    reproaches. 
I:i  a  word,   the  married  state,  with   and   without  the  affection 
su. tabic  to  it,  is  the  completest  image  of  heaven  and  hell  we  are 
capable  of  receiving  in  this  life.^ 

I:i  his  enamored  hour  the  young  man  puts  a  glass  bell  over 
tho  young  woman,  then  out  of  romance  i)aints  a  maiden  fairer 
than  the  romantic  curving  moon,  endows  her  with  virtues  col- 
lected from  written  fictions  and  from  his  own  dreams,  and  then 
loves  the  visionary  angel.     The  young  maiden  does  the  same, 
only  i)alnting  her  ideal  fairer  than  the  young  man  his,  with  less 
austere  traits  than  he  puts  upon  her.     By  and  by  time  breaks 
the  bells,  the  mist  of  romance  has  vanished,  the  visionary  angel 
has  fled,  and  there  are  two  ordinary  mortals  left,  with  good  in 
each,  ill  in  both,  and  they  are  to  find  out  each  other,  and  make 
the  best  of  life  they  can.     Xo  doubt  there  Is  always  a  surprise  to 
the  most  discreet  and  sober  2)ereons.     There  are  ill  things  which 
we  did  not  look  for  in  our  mates,  in  ourselves,  but  there  are  good 
things,  also,  unexj^ccted.     With  brimming  eyes  the  wife  of  five 
years'  standing  has  sometimes  said  to  me,  when  I  asked  inti- 
mately how^  her  marriage  sped  :  ''  I  thought  I  knev/  him  before 
you  married  us.  but  I  did  net  know  v.hat  a  deep  mine  of  noble 

1  Steele. 


1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


2  Bacon. 


448 


MAN   AND   HI3   RELATIONS. 


things  there  was  in  him/'     And  the  husband  of  five-and-forty 
years'  standing  has  sometimes  told  me  of  the  same  discovery  in 
his  wife,  when  age  had  loosed  the  modest  portals  of  the  manly 
tongue,  and  the  words  came  straightway  from  his  heart.     Per- 
haps the  mutual  surprise  it  as  often  a  mutual  pleasure  as  unex- 
pected disappointment.     Men  and  women,  and  especially  young 
people,  do  not  know  that  it  takes  years  to  marry  completely  two 
hearts,  even  of  the  most  loving  and  well-assorted.     But  nature 
allows  no  sudden  change.     AVe  slope  very  gradually  from  the 
cradle  to  the  summit  of  life.     Marriage  is  gradual ;  a  fraction  of 
us  at  a  time.     A  happy  wedlock  is  a  long  falling  in  love.     I 
know  young  persons  think  love  belongs  only  to  the  brown  hair, 
and  plump,  round,  crimson  cheek.     So  it  does  for  its  beginning, 
just  as  Mount  Washington  begins  at  Boston  Bay.    But  the  golden 
marriage  is  a  part  of  love  which  the  bridal  day  knows  nothing 
of     Youth  is  the  tassel  and  silken  flower  of  love  ;  age  is  the  full 
corn,  ripe  and  solid  in  the  ear.     Beautiful  is  the  morning  of  love, 
with  its  prophetic  crimson,  violet,  saffron,  purple,  and  gold,  with 
its  hopes  of  days  that  are  to  come.     Beautiful,  also,  is  the  even- 
ing of  love,  with  its  glad  remembrances,  and  its  rainbow  side 
turned  toward  heaven  as  well  as  earth. 

Young  people  marry  their  opposites  in  temper  and  general 
character,  and  such  a  marriage  is  commonly  a  good  match. 
They  do  it  instinctively.  The  young  man  does  not  say :  "  My 
black  eyes  require  to  be  wed  with  blue,  and  my  over-vehemence 
requires  to  be  a  little  modified  with  somewhat  of  dullness  and 
reserve  f  and  when  these  opposites  come  together  to  be  wed, 
they  do  not  know  it ;  each  thinks  the  other  just  like  himself. 
Old  people  never  marry  their  opposites;  they  marry  their  simi- 
lars, and  from  calculation.  Each  of  these  two  arrangements  is 
very  proper.     In  their  long  journey  those  young  opposites  will 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


449 


fall  out  by  the  way  a  great  many  times,  and  both  get  away  from 
Xh^  road  ;  but  each  will  charm  the  otlier  back  again,  and  bv  and 
by  they  will  be  agreed  as  to  the  place  they  will  go  to,  and  the 
road  they  will  go  by,  and  become  reconciled.     The  man  will  be 
nobler  and  larger  for  being  associated  with  so  much  humanity 
unlike  liimself,  and  she  will  be  a  nobler  woman  for  having  man- 
hood beside  her  that  seeks  to  correct  her  deficiencies,  and  sup- 
ply her  with  what  she  lacks,  if  the  diversity  is  not  too  great,  and 
there  be  real  piety  and  love  in  their  hearts  to  begin  with.   '  The 
old  bridegroom,  having  a  much  shorter  journey  to   take,  must 
associate  himself  with  one  like  himself. 

A  perfect  and  complete  marriage,  where  wedlock  is  evervthing 
you  could  ask,  and  the  ideal  of  marriage  becomes  actnal,Vs  not 
common,  perhaps  is  as  rare  as  perfect  personal  beautv.     Men 
and  women  are  married  fractionally-now  a  small  fraction,  then 
a  large  fraction.     Very  few  are  married  totally,  and  tiiev  oLlv   I 
think,  after  some  forty  or  fifty  years  of  gradual  approach  and 
experiment.     Such  a  large  and  sweet  fruit  is  a  complete  mar- 
riage that  it  needs  a  very  long  summer  to  ripen  in,  and  then  a 
long  winter  to  mellow  and  season  in.     But  a  real,  happy  niar- 
riage,  of  love  and  judgment,  between  a  noble  man  and  woman, 
is  one  of  the  things  so  very  handsome,  that  if  the  sun  were   as 
the  Greek  poets  fabled,  a  god,  he  might  stop  the  world  and  hold 
It  still  now  and  then  in  order  to  look  all  day  long  on   some 
example  thereof,  and  feast  his  eyes  with  such  a  spectacle.' 

Happy  will  that  house  be  in  which  the  relations  are'  formed 
from  character-after  the  highest,  and  not  after  the  low^est  order; 
the  house  in  which  character  marries,  and  not  confusion  and  a 
miscellany  of  unavowable  motives.  Then  shall  marriage  be  a 
covenant  to  secure  to  either  party  the  sweetness  and  honor  of 
being  a  calm,   continuing,   inevitable    benefactor  to   the   other. 

1  Parker. 


.  % 


450 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


451 


Yes  auJ  the  sufficieut  reply  t.,  the  skeptic  who  doubts  the  com- 
petence of  man  to  elevate  and  to  be  elevated  is  in  that  desn^ 
and  power  to  stand  in  joyful  and  ennobling  intercourse  ^^•lth 
individuals  which  n.akes  the  faith  and  the  practice  of  all  rea- 

son  able  men.^ 

Husband  and  WiFE.-Young  people  often  rush  into  mar- 

;iac.e  without  reflection.  A  young  man  meets  a  pretty  f\.ce  m  a 
ball-room,  likes  it,  dances  with  it,  flirts  with  it,  and  goes  home 
to  dream  about  it.  At  length  he  falls  in  love  with  it,  courts  it, 
marries  it,  and  then  he  takes  the  pretty  iVxce  home,  and  begins  to 
know  something  more  about  it.     .     .     • 

Most  newlv  married  people  require  some  time  to  settle  quietly 
down   together.     Even  those  whose   married  life  has  been  tne 
happiest  arrive  at  peace  and  repose  through  a  period  of  little 
strug<des  ami  bewilderments.     The  husband  does  not  all  at  once 
find  his  place,   nor  the  wife  hers.     One  of    the   very  happiest 
women  we  know  has  told  us  that  the  first  year  of  her  married 
life  was  the  most  uncomfortable  of  all.     She  had  so   much  to 
learn-was  so  fearful  of  doing  wrong-and  had  not  yet  found 
her  proper  position.     But,  feeling  their  way,  kind  and  loving 
natures  will  have  no  difli.ulty  in  at  last  settling  down  comforta- 
blv  and  peacefully  togetht^r. 

'it  was  not  so  with  the  supposed  young  man  and  his  pretty 
u  face  ^'     Both  entered   upon  their  new  life  without  thinking,  or 
perhaps  with  exaggerated  expectations  of  its  unalloyed  happi- 
ness     They  could  not  make  allowances  for  lovers  subsKling  into 
husband  and  wife  ;  nor  were  they  prepared  for  the  little  ruffles 
and  frettings  of  individual  temper  ;  and  both  felt  disappointed 
There  was  a  relaxation  of  the  little  attentions  which  are  so  novel 
and  charming  to  lovers.     Then  the  pretty  face,  when  neglected, 
found   relief   in   tears.      There   is   nothing  of   which   men   tire 


sooner,  especially  when  the  tears  are  about  trifles.  Tears  do  not, 
in  such  cases,  cause  sympathy,  but  breed  repulsion.  They  occa- 
sion sourness,  both  on  the  one  side  and  the  other.  Tears  are 
dangerous  weapons  to  play  with.  AYere  women  to  try  kindness 
and  cheerfulness  instead,  how  infinitely  happier  would  they  be! 
Many  are  the  lives  that  are  made  miserable  by  an  indulgence  in 
fretting  and  carking,  until  the  character  is  indelibly  stamped, 
and  the  rational  enjoyment  of  life  becomes  next  to  a  moral 
impossibility.^ 

Ask  yourself  where  it  is  that  you  show  the  worst  side  of  your 
nature?     Where  is  it  that  you  feel  at  the  greatest  liberty  to 
exhibit  your  spleen,  to  give  way  to  your  fretfulness,  to  speak 
harsh  words,  to  make  hateful  little  speeches  that  are  contempti- 
ble from  their  unprovoked  bitterness  ?     Is  it  among  your  fellows, 
and  in  the  society  of  other  ladies,  that  you  take  occasion  to  say 
your  meanest  things?     No,  sir!     You  go  home  to  your  wife, 
you  go  home  from  those  who  care  no  more  for  you  than  they  do 
for  a  thousand  others,  to  the  woman  whom,  in  the  presence  of 
God  and  men,  you  have  promised  to  love  and  cherish  above  all 
others,  to  the  woman  who  loves  you,  and  who  regards  you  as 
better  than  all  else  earthly,  to  a  woman  who  is  unprotected  save 
by  you,  and  wholly  unprotected  from  you,  and  spit  your  spleen 
into  her  ear,  and  say  things  to  her  which,  if  any  one  else  were 
to  say,  would  secure  him  a  well-deserved  caning.     Are  you  not 
ashamed  of  this?     You  say  things  to  her  which  you  would  not 
dare  to  say  to  any  other  lady,  how^ever  much  you  might  be  pro- 
voked.    You  say  them,  O  courageous  friend,  because   nobody 
has  the  right  to  cowhide  you  for  it.     Isn't  that  brave  and  manly  ? 
As  the  good  mothers  of  us  all  have  told  us  a  thousand  times, 
"Don't  you  never  let  me  hear  of  your  doing  that  again."     It 
isn't  pretty.     It  is  ineffably  wicked  and  dastardly. 

1  Smiles. 


>  Emerson. 


452 


MAS   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


That  husbands  and  wives  may  entertain  perfect  sympathy, 
there  should  be  the  closest  confidence  between  them.     I  need 
not  tell  the  wife  to  give  her  husband  the  most  perfect  confidence 
in  all  affairs.     She  does  this  naturally,  if  her  husband  do  not 
repulse  her.     But  you,  young  husband,  do  not  give  your  wife 
your  confidence-you   do  not  make  her  your  confidante-you 
have  an  idea  that  your  business  is  not  your  wife's  business.     So 
you  keep  your  troubles,  your  successes— everything— to  your- 
self.   Numberless  disturbances  of  married  life  begin  exactly  at 
this  point.      Your   wife  receives  the   money  for  her  personal 
expenses,  and  for  the  expenses  of  the  house,  at  your  hands. 
You  do  not  tell  her  how  hardly  it  has  been  won,  with  how  much 
difficulty  you  have  contrived  to  get  it  into  your  purse,  and  how 
necessary  it  is  for  her  to  bo  economical.     You  often  deceive  her, 
out  of  genuine  love  for  her,  into  the  belief  that  you  are  really 
doing  %"crv  well  ;  and  yet  you  wonder  the  woman  can  give  twenty 
dolhrs  fo"r  a  hat  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  cloak.     Perhaps  you 
chide  her  for  her  extravagance,  and  so,  in  course  of  time,  she 
comes  to  think  vou  have  got  a  niggardly  streak  in  you,  and  very 
naturally  rebels  against  it.     She  will  not  be  curtailed  in  her  ex- 
penditures.    She  dresses  no  better  than  her  neighbors.     So  you 
run  your  fingers  through  your  hair,  and  sigh  over  the  fact  that 
you 'have  got  an  extravagant  wife,  while  she,  in  turn,  wonders 
how  it  is  possible  for  a  loving  husband  to  be  so  selfish  and 

stingy.     ... 

And   this   matter  of  confidence   between   you   and  y<^ur  wife 

must  be  carried  into  everything,  for  she  is  your  life-partner- 

your  next  soul.     There  is  no  way  by  which  she  can  understand 

fully  her  relations  to  the  community  and  its  various  interests, 

save  by  understanding  your  own.     So  I  say,  in  closing,  that  to 

your  wife  you  owe  a  reasonable  portion  of  your  time  and  society, 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


453 


the  very  choicest  side  of  your  nature  and  character  when  in  her 
society,  and  your  fullest  confidence  in  all  the  affairs  connected 
with  your  business,  your  ambitions,  your  hopes,  and  your  fears. 
In  the  fierce  conflicts  of  life  you  will  find  abundant  recompense 
for  all  this.     Your   wife  will  soften  your  resentments,  assuage 
your  disappointments,  pour  balm  upon  your  wounded  spirit,  ami 
harmonize  and  soften  you.     At  the  same  time,  the  exercise  of 
heart   and    soul    which    this    will    give    her,    will    make    her   a 
nobler,  freer,  better  woman.     It  will  give   her  greater  breadth 
and  strength  of  mind,  and  deepen  her  sensibilites.     To  a  pair 
thus   living  and   acting,  may  well   be  applied  a  couplet  which 
occurs  in   that    charming   picture   painted   by   Pickney,   of  the 
Indian  husband  and  his  pale-faced  wife : 

She  liumanize.s  liim,  and  he 
Educates  her  to  liberty.^ 

Man,  oppressed  by  cares,  perplexed  by  responsibilities,  fatigued 
with  business,  needs  at  the  evening  fireside  the  relief  of  agree- 
able conversation ;  there  is   no  opiate  so  soothing,  no  tontc  so 
invigorating.     But  this  relief  he  can  not  find  unless  his  wife  be 
as  intelligent  as  himself;  she  must  be  able   to   understand  his 
words  and  allusions,   to    be  interested   with    his  studies,   to   be 
pleased  with  his  amusements,  to  appreciate  his  reflections,  and 
respond  to  his  appeals;  to  exchange  with   him  thoughts,  senti- 
ments, images,  joys.     U  there  be  an  intellectual  chasm  between 
them,  woe  to  both  !  they  may  understand  each  other's  obliga- 
tions and  struggle  t;)  fulfill  them;  but  all  in  vain  ;  the  wife  will 
prefer  the  companionship  of  menials  to  that  of  her  husband,  and 
will  generally  make  an  excuse  to  be  in  the  kitchen  or  the  nursery 
when  he  is  in  the  parlor;  or,  if  she  endure  his  presence,  uill 
leave  him  to  his  reflections  and  relapse  into  her  own— now  and 

1  Holland. 


I 


454 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


then  relieving  the  silence  by  a  smile  that  renders  her  vacancy 
visible.  Under  such  circumstances,  what  wonder  if  the  hus- 
bajid,  especially  if  he  be  not  under  strong  moral  restraint, 
should  seek  (•ompany  at  the  cofFee-housc,  t!ie  theater,  the  assem- 
bly, or  the  billiard-saloon  ;  and,  instead  of  pursuing  a  safe 
voyage  over  the  ocean  of  life,  should  drown  his  bark  in  the  lake 
of  intemperance,  and  wreck  his  fortunes  forever!  This -is  the 
secret  historv  of  most  of  the  children  of  genius.  The  women 
are  not  to  blame;  society  is  to  blame  for  not  educating  them 
upon  the  same  platform  with  men.  Marriage  under  such 
circumstances  is  but  half  marriage — it  is  a  mere  civil  bond; 
whereas  it  aliould  be  also  a  spiritual  one,  one  that  death  can 
hardly  sever,  that  heaven  may  reunite,  and  that  eternity  may 
mature.  Hard  indeed  is  it,  under  the  most  favorable  auspices, 
to  struggle  up  to  the  high  places  of  the  earth ;  doubly  liard, 
scarcely  possible,  when  a  man's  wife  does  not  appreciate  his 
merits,  second  his  eiforts,  and  encourage  his  heart.^ 

Young  wife,  .  .  .  if  you  expect  a  man,  as  a  matter  of 
dutv,  to  iiive  aiiv  considerable  amount  of  time  to  your  society, 
dailv,  through  a  long  series  of  years,  you  are  to  see  that  that 
society  is  worth  something  to  him.  Where  are  your  accomplish- 
ments ?     Where  are  your  books  ?     Where  are  your  subjects  of 


conversation? 


But  let  us  take  up  this  question  separately  :  how  shall  a  wife 
make  her  home  pleasant  and  her  society  attractive  ?  This  is  a 
short  question,  but  a  full  answer  would  make  a  book.  I  can 
only  touch  a  few  points.  In  the  first  place,  she  should  never 
indulge  in  fault-finding.  If  a  man  has  learned  to  expect  that 
he  will  invariably  be  found  fault  with  by  his  wife,  on  his  return 
home,  and  that  the  burden  of  her  words  will  be  complaint,  he 
has  absolutely   no   pleasure   to    anticipate    and   none   to   enjoy. 

1  Bishop  Thomson. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


455 


There  is  but  one  alternative  for  a  husband  in  such  a  case:  either 
to  steel  himself  against  com])laints,  or  be  harrowed  up  by  them 
and  made  snappish  and  waspish.  They  never  produce  a  good 
eifect  under  any  circumstances  whatever.  There  should  alwavs 
be  a  pleasant  word  and  look  ready  for  him  who  returns  from  the 
toils  of  the  day,  wearied  with  earning  the  necessaries  of  the 
family.  If  a  pretty  pair  of  slippers  lie  before  the  fire,  ready  for 
his  feet,  so  much  the  better. 

Then,  again,  the  desire  to  be  pleasing  in  person  should  never 
leave  a  wife  for  a  day.  The  husband  who  comes  home  at  night, 
and  finds  his  wife  dressed  to  receive  him — dressed  neatly  and 
tastefully,  because  she  wishes  to  be  pleasant  to  his  eye — can  not, 
unless  he  be  a  brute,  neglect  her,  or  slight  her  graceful  pains- 
taking. It  is  a  compliment  to  him.  It  displays  a  desire  to 
maintain  the  charms  which  first  attracted  him,  and  to  keep  intact 
the  silken  bonds  which  her  tasteful  girlhood  had  fastened  to  his 
fancy. 

I  have  seen  things  managed  very  differently  from  this.  I 
have  known  an  undressed  head  of  ^'horrid  hair''  worn  all  day 
long,  because  nobody  but  the  husband  Avould  see  it.  I  have  seen 
breakfast  dresses  with  sugar  plantations  on  them  of  very  respect- 
able size  and  most  disagreeable  stickiness.  In  short,  I  have  seen 
slatterns  whose  kiss  would  not  tempt  the  hungriest  hermit  that 
ever  forswore  women,  and  was  sorry  for  it.  I  have  seen  them 
with  neither  collar  nor  zone — with  a  person  which  did  not  pos- 
sess a  single  charm  to  a  husband  with  his  eyes  open  and  in  his 
right  mind.  This  is  all  wrong,  young  wife,  for  there  is  no  being 
in  this  world  for  whom  it  is  so  much  for  your  interest  to  dress  as 
for  your  husband.  Your  happiness  depends  much  on  your 
retaining  not  only  the  esteem  of  your  husband,  but  his  admiration. 
He  should  see  no  greater  neatness  and  no  more  taste  in  material 


456 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


457 


and  fitne.ss  in  any  woman's  dress  than  in  yours  ;  and  there  is  no 
individual  in  the  world  before  whom  you  should  always  appear 
with  more  thorough  tidiness  of  person  than  your  husband.     If 
you  are  eareless  in  this  particular,  you   absolutely  throw  away 
some  of  the  strongest  and  most  charming  influences  which  you 
possess.     What  is  true  of  your  person  is  also  true  of  your  house. 
If  your  house  be  disorderly  ;  if  dust  cover  the  table,  and  invite 
the  critical   finger   to  write   your  proper  title ;  if  the  furniture 
look  as  if  it  were  tossed  into  a  room  from  a  cart ;  if  your  table- 
cloth have  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  gravy  than  with 
soap,  and  from  celler  to  garret  there  be  no  order,  do  you  blame 
a  husband  for  not  wanting  to  sit  down  and  spend  his  evening 
with  you  ?     I  should  blame  him,  of  course,  on  general  principles, 
but  as  all   men  are  not  so  sensible  as  I  am,  I  should  charitably 
entertain  all  proper  excuses. 

Still  again,  have  you  anything  to  talk  about— anything  better 
than  scandal— with  which  to  interest  and  refresh  his  weary  mind? 
I  believe  in  the  interchange  of  caresses,  as  I  have  told  you  before, 
but  kisses  are  only  the  spice  of  life.  You  can  not  always  sit  on 
your  hiisbamrs  knee,  for,  in  the  first  place,  it  would  tire  him, 
and,  in  the  second  place,  he  would  get  sick  of  it.  You  should  be 
one  with  your  husband,  but  never  in  the  shape  of  a  parasite. 
He  should  be  able  to  see  growth  in  your  soul,  independent  of 
him,  and  whenever  he  truly  feels  that  he  has  received  from  you 
a  stimulus  to  progress  and  to  goodness,  you  have  refreshed  him 
and  made  a  great  advance  into  his  heart. 

tie  should  see  that  you  really  have  a  strong  desire  to  make 
him  happy,  and  to  retain  forever  the  warmest  place  in  his  respect, 
his  admiration,  and  his  affection.  Enter  into  all  his  plans  with 
interest.  Sweeten  all  his  troubles  with  your  sympathy.  Make 
him  feel  that  there  is  one  ear  always  open  to  the  revelation  of  his 


experiences;  that  there  is  one  heart  that  never  misconstrues  him; 
that  there  is  one  refuge  for  him  in  all  circumstances;  and  that  in 
all  weariness  of  body  and  soul  there  is  one  warm  pillow  for  his 
head,  beneath  which  a  heart  is  beating  with  the  same  unvarying 
truth  and  affection,  through  all  gladness  and  sadness,  as  the  faith- 
ful chronometer  suffers  no  perturbation  of  its  rhythm  by  shine 
or  shower.     A  husband  who  has  such  a  wife  as  this  has  little 
temptation  to  spend  much  time  away  from  Imme.     He  can  not 
stay  away  long  at  a  time.     He  may  "  meet  a  man,"  but  the  man 
will  not   long  detain   him  from  his  wife.     He  may  go   to   the 
"post-offiee,"   but  he  will  not  call  upon  the  friend's  wife  on  the 
way.     He  can  do  better.     The  great  danger  is  that  ho  will  love 
his  home  too  well ;  that  he  will  neither  be  willing  to  have  you 
visit  your  aunts  and  cousins,  nor,  without  a  groan,  accept  an 
invitation  to  tea  at  your  neighbor's. 

But  I  leave  this  special  point,  to  which  I  have  devoted  my 
space  somewhat  improvidently.  There  is  one  relation  which 
you  bear  to  your  husband,  or  one  aspect  of  your  relation  to  him, 
to  which  I  have  not  alluded  sufficiently.  You  are  not  only  the 
wife  of  his  bosom,  the  object  of  his  affections,  but  you  have  a 
business  relation  with  him-you  are  his  helpmate.  To  a  very 
great  extent  you  are  dependent  upon  him,  but  you  arc  also  his 
assistant-bound  to  use  his  money  economically,  and  to  aid,  so 
far  as  you  can,  in  saving  and  accumulating  it.' 

If  a  man  goes  into  a  business  transaction  that  he  dare  not  tell 
his  wife  of,  you  may  depend  that  he  is  on  the  way  either  to 
bankruptcy  or  moral  ruin.  There  may  be  some  things  which  he 
does  not  wish  to  trouble  his  wife  with,  but  if  he  dare  not  tell 
her,  he  is  on  the  road  to  discomfiture.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
husband  ought  to  be  sympathetic  with  the  wife's  occupaiion. 
It  is  no  easy  thing  to  keep  house.     Many  a  woman  that  could 

» Holland. 


458 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


459 


have  endured  martyrdom  as  well  as  Margaret,  the  Scotch  girl, 
have  actual Iv  been  worn  out  by  liouse  management.  There  are 
a  tloui^and  martyrs  of  the  kitchen.  It  is  very  annoying,  after 
tlie  vexations  of  the  day  around  the  stove  or  the  table,  or  in  the 
nursery  or  parlor,  to  have  the  husband  say  :  "  You  know  noth- 
ing about  trouble;  you  ought  to  be  in  the  store  half  an  hour.^' 
Sympathy  of  occupation  I  If  the  husband's  work  cover  him 
with  the  soot  of  the  furnace,  or  the  odors  of  leather  or  soap 
factories,  let  not  the  wife  be  easily  disgusted  at  the  begrimmed 
hands  or  unsavory  aroma.  Your  gains  are  one,  your  interests 
are  one,  vour  losses  are  one :  lav  hold  of  the  work  of  life  with 
both  hands.  Four  hands  to  fight  the  battle.  Four  eyes  to 
watch  for  the  danger.  Four  shoulders  on  which  to  carry  the 
trials.  It  is  a  very  sad  thing  when  the  painter  has  a  wife  who 
does  not  like  pictures.  It  is  a  very  sad  thing  for  a  pianist  when 
i^he  has  a  husband  who  does  not  like  music.  It  is  a  very  sad 
i\\\u<r  when  a  wife  is  not  suited  unless  her  husband  has  what  is 
called  a  ^^ genteel  business. '^  As  far  as  I  understand  "a  genteel 
business,''  it  is  something  to  which  a  man  goes  at  ten  o'clock  in 
the  mornintr,  and  comes  home  at  two  or  three  in  the  afternoon, 
and  gets  a  large  amount  of  money  for  doing  nothing.  This  is, 
I  believe,  a  "genteel  business;"  and  there  has  been  many  a  wife 
who  has  made  the  mistake  of  not  being  satisfied  until  the  hus- 
band has  given  up  the  tanning  of  the  hides,  or  the  turning  of 
the  banisters,  or  the  building  of  the  walls,  and  put  himself  in 
circles  where  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  smoke  cigars  and  drink 
wine,  and  get  himself  into  habits  that  upset  him,  going  down  in 
the  maelstrom,  taking  his  wife  and  children  with  him.^ 

Husbands  should  try  to  make  home  happy  and  holy.  It  is  an 
ill  bird  that  fouls  its  own  nest,  a  bad  man  who  makes  his  home 
wretched.     Our  house  ought  to  be  a  little  church,  with  holiness 

1  Talmage. 


-I 
3 


to  the  Lord  over  the  door,  but  it  ou  ;ht  never  to  be  a  prison, 
where  there  is  plenty  of  rule  and  order,  but  little  loye  and  no 
pleasure.  Married  life  is  not  all  sugar,  but  grace  in  the  heart 
will  keep  away  most  of  the  sours.  Godliness  and  love  can  make 
a  man,  like  a  bird  in  a  hedge,  sing  among  thorns  and  briers  and 
set  others  a-singing  too.  It  should  be  the  husband's  i)leasure  to 
please  his  wife,  and  the  wife's  care  to  care  for  her  husband.  He 
is  kind  to  himself  who  is  kind  to  his  wife.  I  am  afraid  some 
men  live  by  the  rule  of  self,  and  when  that  is  the  case  home 
happiness  is  a  mere  sham.  "When  husbands  and  wives  are  well 
yoked,  how  light  their  load  becomes !  It  is  not  every  couple 
that  is  a  pair,  and  the  more's  the  pity.  In  a  true  home  all  the 
strife  is  which  can  do  the  most  to  make  the  family  happy.  A 
home  should  be  a  Bethel,  not  Babel.  The  husband  should  be 
the  house-band,  binding  all  together  like  a  corner-stone,  but  not 
crushing  everything  like  a  millstone.  Unkind  and  domineering 
husbands  ought  not  to  pretend  to  be  Christians,  for  they  act 
clean  contrary  to  Christ's  demands. 

Wives  should  feel  that  home  is  their  place  and  their  kingdom, 
the  happiness  of  which  depends  mostly  u2)on  them.  She  is  a 
wricked  wife  who  drives  her  husband  away 'by  her  long  tongue. 
A  man  said  to  his  wife  the  other  day,  "Double  up  your  whip;" 
he  meant,  keep  your  tongue  quiet,  it  is  wretched  living  with 
such  a  whip  always  lashing  you.  When  God  gave  to  men  ten 
measures  of  speech,  they  say  the  women  ran  away  with  nine, 
and  in  some  cases  I  am  afraid  the  sayin^:  is  true.  A  dirtv,  slat- 
ternly,  gossiping  wife  is  enough  to  drive  her  husband  mad;  and 
if  he  goes  to  the  public-house  of  an  evening,  she  is  the  cause  of 
it.  It  is  doleful  living  where  the  wife,  instead  of  reverencing 
her  husband,  is  ahvays  wrangling  and  railing  at  him.  It  must 
be  a  good  thing  when  such  women  are  hoarse,  and  it  is  a  pity 


460 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


that  they  have  not  as  many  blisters  on  their  tongues  as  they 
have  teeth  in  their  jaws.  God  save  us  all  from  wives  who  are 
angels  in  the  streets,  saints  in  the  church,  and  devils  at  home.^ 

A  true  wife  is  her  husband's  better  half,  his  lump  of  delight, 
his  flower  of  beauty,  his  guardian  angel,  and  his  heart's  treasure. 
He  savs  to  her,  "  I  shall  in  thee  most  happy  be.  In  thee,  my 
choice,  I  do  rejoice.  In  thee  I  find  content  of  mind.  God's 
appointment  is  my  contentment."  In  her  company  he  finds  his 
earthly  heaven ;  she  is  the  light  of  his  home,  the  comfort  of 
his  soul,  and  (for  this  world)  the  soul  of  his  comfort.  Whatever 
fortune  God  may  send  him,  he  is  rich  so  long  as  she  lives.  His 
rib  is  the  best  bone  of  his  body. 

The  man  who  weds  a  loving  wife, 
Whate'er  betideth  liim  in  life, 

Shall  bear  up  under  all; 
But  he  that  finds  an  evil  mate, 
No  good  can  come  within  his  gate, 

His  cup  is  filled  with  gall. 


A  good  husband  makes  a  good  wife.  Some  men  can  neither 
do  without  wives  nor  with  them  ;  they  arc  wretched  alone  In 
what  is  called  single  blessedness,  and  they  make  their  homes 
miserable  when  they  get  married ;  they  are  like  Tomkin's  dog, 
which  could  not  bear  to  be  loose,  and  howled  when  it  wa3  tied. 
Happy  bachelors  are  likely  to  be  happy  husbands,  and  a  happy 
husband  is  the  happiest  of  men.  A  well-matched  couple  carry  a 
joyful  life  between  them,  as  the  two  spies  carry  the  cluster  of 
Eshcol.  Thev  are  a  brace  of  birds  of  Paradise.  They  multiply 
their  joys  by  sharing  them,  and  lessen  their  troubles  by  dividing 
them:  this  is  fine  arithmetic.  The  wagon  of  care  rolls  lightly 
along  as  they  pull  together,  and  when  it  drags  a  little  heavily,  or 

1  Spurgeon. 


DOMESTIC  ASPECTS. 


461 


there's  a  hitch  anywhere,  they  love  each  other  all  iha  more,  and 
so  lighten  the  labor. ^ 

Hast  thou  a  soft  heart?  It  is  of  God's  breaking.  Hast  thou 
a  sweet  wife  ?  She  is  of  God's  making.  The  Hebrews  have  a 
saying,  '^Ic  is  not  a  man  that  hath  not  a  woman."  Thouo-h 
man  alone  may  be  good,  yet  it  is  not  good  that  man  should  be 
alone.  "  Every  good  gift  and  every  perfect  gift  is  from  above." 
A  wife,  though  she  be  not  a  perfect  gift,  is  a  good  gift,  a  beam 
darted  from  the  Sun  of  mercy.  How  happy  are  those  marriages 
where  Christ  is  at  the  wedding!  Let  none  but  those  who  have 
found  favor  in  God's  eyes  find  fiivor  in  yours.  Husbands  should 
spread  a  mantle  of  charity  over  their  wives'  infirmities.  Do 
not  put  out  the  candle  because  of  the  snuff.  Husbands  and 
wives  should  provoke  one  another  to  love,  and  they  should  love 
one  anotlier  notwithstanding  provocations.  The  tree  of  love 
should  grow  up  in  the  midst  of  the  family,  as  the  tree  of  life 
grew^  in  the  garden  of  Eilen.  Good  servants  are  a  great  bless- 
ing; good  children  a  greater  blessing;  but  a  good  wife  is  the 
greatest  blessing;  and  such  a  help  let  him  seek  for  her  that 
wants  one;  let  him  sigh  for  her  that  hath  lost  one;  let  him 
deliglit  in  her  that  enjoys  one.^ 

DuTii:s  OF  Parents.— Whatever  may  be  the  efficiency  of 
our  schools,  the  examples  s:^t  in  our  Homes  must  alwavs  be  of 
vastly  greater  influence  in  forming  the  characters  of  our  future 
men  and  women.  The  Home  is  the  crystal  of  society — the  very 
nucleus  of  national  character;  and  from  that  source,  be  it  pure 
or  tainted,  issue  the  habits,  principles,  and  maxims  v/hich  govern 
public  as  well  as  private  life.  The  nation  comes  from  the 
nursery;  public  opinion  itself  is  for  the  most  part  the  outgrowth 
of  the  home;  and  the  best  philanthropy  comes  from  the  fireside. 
"To  love  the  little  platoon  we  belong  to  in  society,"  says  Burke, 


J  Ibid. 


2  William  Seeker. 


462 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


463 


li 


"  is  the  germ  of  all  public  am^ctious.'^  From  this  little  central 
spot  the  human  sympathies  may  extend  in  an  ever-widening  cir- 
cle, until  tlie  \vorld  is  embraced ;  for,  thou-h  true  philanthropy, 
like  charity,  begins  at  home,  assuredly  it  d:)cs  not  end  there.^ 

The  schoolmaster  sees  the  mother's  face  daguerreotyped  in  the 
conduct  and  character  of  each  little  boy  and  girl.     Nny,  a  chance 
visitor,  Avith  a  quick  eye,  sees  very  plainly  Avhich  child  is  daily 
baptized  in  the  tranquil  waters  of  a  blessed  home,  and  which  is 
cradled  in  violence  and  suckled  at  the  bosom  of  a  storm.     Did 
you  ever  look  at  a  little  pond  on  a  sour,  dark  day  in  March  ? 
How  sullen  the  swampy  water  looked !     The  shore  pouted  at  the 
pond,  and  the  pond  made  moutlis  at  the  land ;    and  how  the 
scraggy  trees,  cold  and  bare-armed,  scowled  over  the  edge  !     But 
look  ai  it  on  a  bright  day  in  June,  when  great,  rounding  clouds, 
all  golden  with  sunlight,  checker  the  heavens,  and  seem  like  a 
great  flock  of  sheep  which  the  good  God  is  tending  in  that  up- 
land pa:Uure  of  the  sky,  and  then  how  different  looks  that  pond— 
the  shores  all  green,  the  heavens  all  gny,  and  the  pond  laughs 
right  out  and  blesses  God !     As  the  heaven  over  the  water,  so  a 
mother  broods  over  the  family,  March  or  June,  just  as  she  will.^ 
Parents  should  themselves  be  living  in  the  Spirit,  and  be  so 
tempered  by  their  faithful  walk  as  to  have  the  Christly  char- 
acter on  them.     Nothing  but  this  will  so  lift  their  aims,  quiet 
their   passions,   steady  their   measures   and    proceedings,   as   to 
give  them  that  personal  authority  which  is  requisite.     .     .     . 
Children   love  the  realities,  and  are  worried  by  all  shams  of 

character.     .     .     . 

There  is  also  another  pre-condition  of  authority  in  parents 
closely  related  to  this;  I  mean  that  they  be  so  far  entered  into 
the  Christian  order  of  marriage  as  to  fulfill  gracefully  what 
belon<^s  to  the  relation  in  which  they  are  set,  and  show  them  to 


the  children  as  doing  fit  honor  to  each  other.  By  a  defect  just 
here  all  authority  in  the  house  is  blasted.  Thus  Dr.  Ticrsch,  in 
his  excellent  little  treatise  on  the  Christian  Family  Life,  says: 
"  A  wife  can  not  weaken  the  authoritv  of  the  father  without 
undermining  her  own,  for  her  authority  rests  upon  his,  and  if 
that  of  the  mother  is  subordinated  to  that  of  the  father,  yet  it  is 
but  one  authority,  which  can  not  be  weakened  in  either  of  the 
two  who  bear  it  without  injury  to  both.  The  mother,  therefore, 
must  consider  it  a  matter  cf  famllv  decorum,  which  is  not  to  be 
broken,  never,  even  in  little  matters,  to  contradict  the  father  in 
the  i)resence  of  the  children,  except  with  the  reservation  of  a 
modest  admission  of  his  right  of  decision,  and  that  in  cases  which 
admit  of  no  delay.  But  just  as  much  is  it  the  duty  of  the  hus- 
band to  leave  the  authority  of  hisAvife  unassailed  in  the  presence 
of  other  members  of  the  household,  and,  when  he  is  obliired  to 
overrule  her  objections,  to  do  it  in  a  tender  and  kindly  form. 
If  he  turns  to  her  with  roughness  and  harshness  from  jealousy 
of  his  place  of  rule,  it  is  not  only  the  heart  of  his  wife  which  is 
estranged  from  him ;  with  the  children,  too,  intervenes  a  weaken- 
ing of  the  moral  power,  under  which  they  should  feel  themselves 
placed.  If  in  their  presence  their  mother  is  blamed  as  foolish 
or  obstinate,  and  so  lowered  to  the  place  of  a  child  or  a  maid- 
servant, that  sanctity  immediately  vanishes,  which,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  children,  surrounds  the  heads  of  both  father  and  mother  in 
common.'^  * 

I  have  seen  scores  and  scores  of  women  leave  school,  leave 
their  piano  and  drawing  and  fancy  work,  and  all  manner  of 
pretty  and  pleasant  things,  and  marry  and  bury  themselves. 
You  hear  of  them  about  six  times  in  ten  years,  and  there  is  a 
baby  each  time.  They  crawl  out  of  the  farther  end  of  the  ten 
years,   sallow  and  wrinkled  and   lank — teeth  gone,  hair  gone, 

*BushnelL 


1  Smiles. 


2  Parker. 


464 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


roses  gone,  plumpness  gone — freshness,  and  vivacity,  and  sparkle, 
everything  that  is  dewy,  and  springing,  and  spontaneous,  gone, 
none,  irone  forever.  .  .  .  xV  man  can  not  burrow  in  his 
counting-room  for  ten  or  twenty  of  the  best  years  of  liis  life,  and 
come  out  as  much  of  a  man  and  as  little  of  a  mole  as  he  went  in. 
But  the  twenty  years  should  have  ministered  to  his  manhood, 
instead  of  trampling  on  it.  Still  less  can  a  Avoman  bury  herself 
in  her  nursery,  and  come  out  without  harm.  But  the  years 
should  have  done  her  great  good.  This  world  is  not  made  for  a 
tomb,  but  a  garden.  You  are  to  be  a  seed,  not  a  death.  Plant 
vourself,  and  you  will  sprout.  Bury  yourself,  and  you  can  only 
decay.  ...  If  the  mother  stands  on  high  ground,  she 
brings  her  children  u])  to  lier  own  level;  if  she  sinks,  they  sink 
with  her. 

To  maintain  her  rank,  no  exertion  is  too  great,  no  means  too 
small.  Dress  i.s  one  of  tlie  most  obvious  things  to  a  child.  If 
the  mother  wears  cheap  or  shabby  or  ill-assorted  clothes,  while 
the  children's  are  fine  and  harmonious,  it  is  impossible  that  they 
should  not  receive  the  impression  that  they  are  of  more  conse- 
quence than  their  mother.  .  .  .  It  is  essential,  also,  that  the 
mother  liave  sense,  intelligence,  comprehension.  As  much  as 
she  can  add  of  education  and  accomplishments  will  increase  her 
stock  in  trade.  Her  reading  and  riding  and  music,  instead  of 
bein^'-  ncirlected  for  her  children's  sake,  should,  for  their  sake, 
be  scrupulously  cultivated.  .  .  .  Let  them  see  her  sought 
for  her  social  worth  ;  let  them  see  that  she  is  familiar  with  all 
the  conditions  of  their  life ;  that  her  vision  is  at  once  broader 
and  keener  than  theirs ;  that  her  feet  have  traveled  along  the 
paths  th?y  arc  just  beginning  to  explore  ;  that  she  knows  all  the 
phases  alike  of  their  strength  and  their  weakness,  and  her  influ- 
ence over  them   is  unbounded.     Let   them   see  her  uncertain,' 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


465 


jfe 


uncomfortable,  hesitating,  fearful  without  discrimination,  leaning 
where  she  ought  to  support,  interfering,  without  power  of  sug- 
gesting; counseling,  but  not  controlling;  with  no  presence,  no 
bearing,  no  exporience,  no  prestige,  and  they  will  carry  matters 
with  a  high  hand.  They  will  overrule  her  decisions,  and  their 
love  will  not  be  unmingled  with  contempt.  .  .  .  Hence  it 
folio w^s  that  our  social  gatherings  consist,  to  so  lamentable  an 
extent,  of  pert  youngsters  or  faded  oldsters.  Thence  come  those 
abominable  ^^  young  people's  parties,"  where  a  score  or  two 
or  three  of  boys  and  girls  meet  and  manage  after  their  own 
hearts.     .     .     . 

Yet  fathers  and  mothers  not  only  accpiiesce  in  this  state  of 
things,  they  approve  of  it.  They  foster  it.  They  are  forward  to 
annihilate  themselves.  They  are  careful  to  let  their  darlings  go 
out  alone,  lest  they  be  a  restraint  upon  them — as  if  that  were  not 
what  parents  were  made  for.  If  they  were  what  they  ought  to 
be,  the  restraint  w\)uld  be  not  only  wholesome,  but  impalpable. 
The  relation  between  parents  and  children  should  be  such  that 
pleasure  shall  not  be  quite  perfect,  unless  shared  by  both. 
Parents  ought  to  take  such  a  tender,  proud,  intellectual  interest 
in  the  pursuits  and  amusements  of  their  children  that  the  children 
shall  feel  the  glory  of  the  victory  dimmed,  unless  their  parents 
are  there  to  witness  it.  If  the  presence  of  a  sensible  mother 
is  felt  as  a  restraint,  it  shows  conclusively  that  restraint  is 
needed.     .     .     . 

A  slouchy  garb  is  both  effect  and  cause  of  a  slouchy  mind.  A 
woman  who  lets  go  her  hold  upon  dress,  literature,  music,  amuse- 
ment, will  almost  inevitably  slide  down  into  a  bog  of  muggy 
moral  indolence.  She  will  lose  her  spirit,  and  when  the  spirit  is 
gone  out  of  a  woman,  there  is  not  much  left  of  her.     When  ^he 

cheapens  herself,  she  diminishes  her  value,     ,     ,     . 
31 


t 


466 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


A  mother  must  battle  against  the  tendencies  that  drag  her 
downward.  She  must  take  pains  to  grow,  or  she  will  not  grow. 
She  must  sedulously  cultivate  her  mind  and  heart,  or  her  old  age 
will  be  ungraceful;  and  if  she  lose  freshness  without  acquir- 
ing ripeness,  she  is  indeed  in  an  evil  case.     .     .     . 

If  a  woman  wishes  and  purposes  to  be  the  friend  of  her  hus- 
band— if  she  would  be  valuable  to  him,  not  simply  as  the  nurse 
of  his  children  and  the  directress  of  his  household,  but  as  a 
woman  fresh  and  fair  and  fascinating  —  to  him  intrinsically 
lovelv  and  attractive — she  should  make  an  effort  for  it.  It  is 
not  bv  anv  means  a  thing  that  comes  of  itself,  or  that  can  be  left 
to    itself      She    nuist   read,   and    observe,   and    think,   and    rest 

up  to   it.^ 

Childhood. — It  is  out  of  the  unregulated  desires  and  indul- 
gences of  childhood — in  ninety-nine  cases  of  every  hundred — that 
the  moral  infirmities  and  vices  of  mature  life  proceed.  The 
thief  and  the  liar,  the  libertine  and  his  weak  victim  or  wicked 
paramours,  the  drunkard  and  the  gambler,  the  selfish  miser  and 
the  careless  spendthrift,  arc  all  shaped  in  childhood  and  youth. 
The  bov  is  father  of  the  man.  Every  illustration  that  history, 
nature,  and  revelation  can  furnish,  shows  this.  The  general  fact 
is  universally  admitted.  Mind,  like  matter,  can  only  be  shaped 
when  it  is  j^lastic.  Human  character,  like  the  tree,  can  only  bo 
bent  Avhen  it  u  young.- 

Happv  season  of  Childhood!  Kind  Nature,  that  art  to  all  a 
bountiful  Mother;  that  visileth  the  poor  man's  hut  with  auroral 
radiance ;  and  for  thy  Nursling  hast  provided  a  soft  swathing  of 
Love  and  infinite  Hope,  wherein  he  waxes  and  slumbers,  danccd- 
round  bv  sweetest  Dreams  !  If  the  paternal  Cottage  still  shuts  us 
in,  its  roof  still  screens  us;  with  a  Father  we  have  as  yet  a 
prophet,  priest,  and  king,  and  an  Obedience  that  makes  us  Free. 


¥ 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


467 


^  Gail  TIamilton. 


2  Holland. 


The  young  spirit  has  awakened  out  of  Eternity,  and  knows  not 
what  we  mean  by  Time;  as  yet  Time  is  no  fast-hurrying  stream, 
but  a  s^wrtful  sun-lit  ocean;  years  to  the  child  are  as  ages:  ah! 
the  secret  of  Vicissitude,  of  that  slower  or  quicker  decay  and 
ceaseless  down-rushing  of  the  universal  AVorld-fabric,  from  the 
granite  mountain  to  the  man  or  day-moth,  is  quite  unknown; 
and  in  a  motionless  Universe,  we  taste,  what  afterwards  in  this 
quick-whirling  Universe  is  forever  denied  us,  the  balm  of  Rest. 
Sleep  on,  thou  fair  Child,  for  thy  long,  rough  journey  is  at  hand! 
A  little  w^iile,  and  thou  too  shalt  sleep  no  more,  but  thy  very 
dreams  shall  be  mimic  battles;  thou  too,  with  old  Arnauld,  Avilt 
have  to  say  in  stern  patience:  ^'  Rest?  Rest?  Shall  I  not  have 
all  Eternity  to  rest  in?"  Celestial  Nepenthe!  though  a  Pyrrhus 
conquers  emj)ires,  and  an  Alexander  sack  the  world,  he  finds 
thee  not;  and  thou  hast  once  fallen  gently,  of  thy  own  accord, 
on  the  eyelids,  on  the  heart  of  ev^ery  mother's  child.  For  as  yet, 
sleep  and  waking  are  one :  the  fair  Life-garden  rustles  infinite 
around,  and  everywhere  is  dewy  fragrance,  and  the  budding  of 
Hope ;  which  budding,  if  in  youth,  too  frostnipt,  it  grow  to 
flowers,  will  in  manhood  yield  no  fruit,  but  a  prickly,  bitter- 
rinded  stone-fruit,  of  which  the  fewest  can  find  the  kernel.^ 

Government. — When  I  look  and  observe  in  the  little  crea- 
tures the  seeds  of  all  those  virtues  and  qualities  which  will  here- 
after be  so  necessary  to  them,  when  I  mark  in  the  self-willed  all 
the  future  firmness  and  resolution  of  a  noble  character,  in  the 
petulant  that  good  humor  and  gayety  of  temper,  which  will  enable 
them  to  skim  lightly  over  the  dangers  of  life — their  whole  nature 
simple  and  unpolluted! — then  I  call  to  mind  the  golden  words 
of  the  Great  Teacher  of  mankind,  '*  If  you  become  not  like  one 
of  these.''  And  now,  my  friend,  these  children,  who  are  our 
equals,   whom  we  ought  to   regard  as  ensaraples,  we  treat  as 

iCarlyle. 


f 


468 


MAN   AND   HIS   HELATIONS. 


subjects.  They  are  allowed  no  will  of  their  own.  And  have  v:e 
then  none  ourselves?  And  whence  comes  our  exclusive  privi- 
lege? Is  it  because  we  are  older  and  more  experienced?  Good 
God  I  from  thy  heaven  thou  seest  old  children  and  young 
children,  and  no  others;  and  in  which  thou  hast  the  most 
pleasure  thy  Son  has  long  ago  declared.  But  they  believe  in 
Him,  and  hear  Him  not— that  also  is  an  old  story -and  they 
bring  up  their  children  after  their  own  image.^ 

Many  children  grow  up  like  plants  under  bell-glasses.  They 
are  surrounded  only  by  artificial  and  prepared  influences.  They 
are  house-bred,  room-bred,  nurse-bred,  mother-bred  —  every- 
thing but  sclf'brcd.  The  object  of  training  is  to  teach  the 
child  to  take  care  of  himself:  but  many  parents  use  their 
children  only  as  a  kind  of  spool  on  which  to  reel  off  their 
own  experience;  and  they  are  bound  and  corded  until  they 
perish  by  inanity,  or  break   all  bonds  and   cords,  and  rush   to 

ruin  by  reaction.^ 

Men  often  speak  of  breaking  the  will  of  a  child  ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  they  had  better  break  the  neck.  The  w^ill  needs  regula- 
ting, not  destroying.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  breaking  the 
legs  of  a  horse  in  training  him,  as  a  child's  will.  I  would  dis- 
cipline and  develop  it  into  harmonious  proportions.  I  never 
yet  heard  of  a  will  in  itself  too  strong,  more  than  of  an  arm  too 
mighty,  or  a  mind  too  comprehensive  in  its  grasp,  too  powerful 

in  its  hold. 

The  instruction  of  children  should  be  such  as  to  animate, 
inspire,  and  train,  but  not  to  hew,  cut,  and  carve ;  for  I  would 
always  treat  a  child  as  a  live  tree,  which  was  to  be  helped  to 
grow,  never  as  dry,  dead  timber,  to  be  carved  into  this  or  that 
shape,  and  to  have  certain  moldings  grooved  upon  it.  A  live 
tree,  and  not  dead  timber,  is  every  little  child.^ 


,. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


4G9 


When  a  child  can  be  brought  to  tears,  not  from  fear  of  punish- 
ment, but  from  repentance  for  his  offense,  he  needs  no  chastise- 
ment. When  the  tears  begin  to  flow  from  grief  at  one's  own 
conduct,  be  sure  there  is  an  angel  nestling  in  the  bosoni.^ 

As  for  ourselves,  we  tried  the  rod  on  our  own  children,  but 
are  now  trying  the  sugar-plum  with  our  grandchildren.  Thus 
far,  our  success  is  remarkable.  Family  government  has  risen  in 
popularity.  Children  cry  for  it.  Our  children  used  to  look 
with  aversion  on  the  spot  wdiere  we  locked  up  the  switch ;  but 
now  there  is  not  in  the  whole  house  a  place  so  favorite  as  the 
drawer  where  is  stored  the  sweet  moral  suasion.  Good  conduct 
thrives;  obedience  is  at  a  premium;  the  will  is  broken;  the 
children  are  governed  without  knowing  it.  Blessings  on  sugar- 
plums !  ^ 

Every  child  born  to  you  should  learn  among  the  first  things 
it  is  capable  of  learning,  that  in  your  home  your  w^ill  is  supreme. 
The  earlier  a  child  learns  this,  the  better;  and  he  should  learn, 
at  the  same  time,  from  all  your  words  and  all  your  conduct,  that 
such  authority  is  the  companion  of  the  tenderest  love  and  the 
most  genial  kindness.  Play  with  your  children  as  much  as  you 
please ;  make  yourselves  their  companions  and  sympathizers  and 
confidants;  but  keep  all  the  time  the  reins  of  your  authority 
steadily  drawn,  and  never  allow  yourselves  to  be  trifled  with. 
It  is  only  in  this  way  that  you  can  keep  the  management  of  your 
home  in  your  own  hands,  and  retain  the  affectionate  respect  of 
those  whom  you  love  as  you  do  yourselves.^ 

In  my  dealing  with  my  child,  my  Latin  and  Greek,  my  accom- 
plishments and  my  money,  stead  me  nothing ;  but  as  much  soul 
as  I  have  avails.  If  I  am  willful,  he  sets  his  will  against  mine, 
one  for  one,  and  leaves  me,  if  I  please,  the  degradation  of  beat- 
ing him  by  my  superiority  of  strength.     But  if  I  renounce  my 


*  Goethe. 


3  Beecher. 


i  Parker. 


1  Mann. 


2  Beecher. 


3  Holland. 


f 


470 


MAN    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


will,  and  act  for  the  soul,  setting  that  up  as  umpire  between  us 
two,'  out  of  his  young  eyes  looks  the  same  soul ;  he  reveres  and 

loves  with  me/ 

Is  this  infant  chiUl  to  fill  the  univer.>e  with  his  complete  and 
total  self-assertion,  owning  no  superior,  or  is  he  to  learn  the  self- 
submission  of  allegiance,  obedience,  duty  to  God?  Is  he  to 
become  a  demon  let  loose  in  God's  eternity,  or  an  angel  and 
fk'oe  prince  of  the  realm? 

That  he  may  be  this,  he  is  now  given,  will  and  all,  as  wax,  to 
the  wise  molding  power  of  control.     Beginning,  then,  to  lift  his 
will  in  mutiny,  and  swell  in  self-asoerting  obstinacy,  refusing  to 
go  or  come,  Jr  stand,  or  withhold  in  this  or  that,  let  there  be  no 
fight  begun,  or  issue  made  with  him,  as  if  it  were  the  true  thing 
now  to  break  his  will,  or  drive  him  out  of  it,  by  mere  terrors 
and  pains.     This  willfulness,  or  obstinacy,  is  not  so  purely  bad, 
or  evil,  as  it  seems.     It  is  partly  his  feeling  of  himself  and  you, 
in  which  he  is  getting  hold  of  the  conditions  of  authority,  and 
feeling  out  his  limitations.     No,  this  breaking  of  a  child's  will, 
to  which  many  well-meaning  parents  set  themselves  with  such 
instant,  almost  passionate,  resolution,  is  the  way  they  take  to 
make  him  a  coward,  or  a  thief,  or  a  hypocrite,  or  a  mean-spirited 
and  driveling  sycophant— nothing,  in  fict,  is  more  dreadful  to 
thought  than  this  breaking  of  a  will,  when  it  breaks,  as  it  often 
does,'' the  personality  itself,  and  all  highest,  noblest  firmness  of 
manhood.     The  true  problem  is  different ;  it  is  not  to  break,  but 
to  bend  rather,  to  draw  the  will  down,  or  away  from  self-asser- 
tion toward  self-devotion,  t..  teach  it  the  way  of  submitting  to 
wise  limitations,  and  raise  it  into  the  great  and  glorious  liberties 
of  a  state  of  loyalty  to  God.     See,  then,  h.nv  it  is  to  be  done. 
The  child  has  no  force,  however  stout  he  is  in  his  will.     Take 
him  up,  then,  when  the  fit  is  upon  h'.m,  carry  him,  stand  him  on 


J  Emerson. 


I 


^/ 


? 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


471 


his  feet,  set  him  here  or  there,  do  just  that  in  him  which  ne  re- 
fuses to  do  in  himself — all  this  gently  and  kindly,  as  if  he  were 
capable  of  maintaining  no  issue  at  all.  Do  it  again  and  again, 
as  often  as  may  be  necessary.  By  and  by  he  will  begin  to  per- 
ceive that  his  obstinacy  is  but  the  bluster  of  his  weakness,  till 
finally,  as  the  sense  of  limitation  comes  up  into  a  sense  of  law 
and  duty,  he  will  be  found  to  have  learned,  even  beforehand,  the 
follv  of  mere  self-assertion.  And,  when  he  has  reached  this 
point  of  felt  obligation  to  obedience,  it  w^ill  no  longer  break  him 
down  to  enforce  his  com})liance,  but  it  will  even  exalt  into 
greater  dignity  and  capacity  that  sublime  power  of  self-govern- 
ment by  which  his  manhood  is  to  be  most  distinguished.^ 

At  first,  or  in  the  earlier  periods  of  childhood,  authority 
should  rest  upon  its  own  right,  and  expect  to  be  obeyed  just 
because  it  speaks.  It  should  stake  itself  on  no  assigned  reasons, 
and  have  nothing  to  do  with  reasons,  unless  it  be  after  the  fact, 
when,  bv  showing  wliat  has  been  depending,  in  a  manner  unseen 
to  the  child,  it  can  add  a  presumption  of  reason  to  all  future 
commands.  It  is  even  a  good  thing  to  the  moral  and  religious 
nature  of  a  child  to  have  its  obedience  required,  and  to  be  ac- 
customed to  obedience,  on  the  ground  of  simple  authority  ;  to 
learn  homage  and  trust,  as  all  subject  natures  must,  and  so  to 
accept  the  rule  of  God's  majesty,  when  the  reasons  of  God  are 
inscrutable. 

At  the  same  time,  it  should  never  be  forgotten,  in  this  due 
assertion  of  authority  and  restrictive  law,  that  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  the  imperative  and  the  dictatorial,  between 
the  exact  and  the  exacting.  I  have  spoken  already  of  the  com- 
mon fault  of  commanding  overmuch,  and  forgetting  or  omitting 
to  enforce  what  is  commanded  ;  there  is  another  kind  of  fiiult 
which   commands  overmuch,  and   rigidly  exacts  what   is  com- 


1  Bushnell. 


472 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


DOMESTIC   ASPECTS. 


473 


manded;  laying  on  commaiKls,  as  it  seems  to  the  child,  just 
because  it  can,  or  is  willing  to  gall  his  peace  by  exacting  some- 
thing that  shall  cut  away  even  the  semblance  of  liberty.  No 
parent  has  a  right  to  put  oppression  on  a  child  in  the  name  of 
authority.  And,  if  he  uses  authority  in  that  way  to  annoy  the 
child's  peace,  and  even  to  forbid  his  possession  of  himself,  he 
should  not  complain  if  the  impatience  he  creates  grows  into  a 
bitter  animosity,  and  finally  a  stiff  rebellion. 

Nothing  should  ever  be  commanded  except  what  is  needed  and 
required.by  the  most  positive  reasons,  whether  those  reasons  are 

made  known  or  not. 

Another  qualification  here  to  be  observed,  belongs  to  what  may 
be  called  the  emancipation  of  the  child.     A  wise  parent  under- 
stands   that    his   government   is  to   be    crowned    by   an   act  of 
emancipation ;    and  it  is  a  great   problem    to    accomplish    that 
emancipation  gracefully.     Pure  authority,  up  to  the  last  limit  of 
minority,  then  a  total,  instantaneous  self-possession,  makes  an 
awkward  transition.     A  young  eagle  kept  in  the  nest  and  brooded 
over  till  his  beak  and  talons  are  full  grown,  then  pitched  out  of 
it  and  required  to  take  care  of  himself,  will  most  certainly  be 
dashed  upon  the  ground.     The  emancipating  process,  in  order  to 
be   well   finished,  should  begin  early,  and  should  pass  imper- 
ceptibly.    Thus  the  child,  after  being  ruled  for  a  time  by  pure 
authority,  should  begin,  as  the  understanding  is  developed,  to 
have  some  of  the  reasons  given  why  it  is  recpiired  to  abstain,  or 
do,  or  practice,  in  this  or  that  way  instead  of  some  other.     The 
tastes  of  the  child,  too,  should  begin  to  be  a  little  consulted,  in 
respect  to  his  school,  his  studies,  his  future  engagements  in  life.^ 
Punishment  should  be  severe  enough  to  serve  their  purpose ; 
and  gentle  enough  to  show,  if  possible,  a   tenderness  that  is 
averse  from  the  infliction.      There  is  no  abuse  more  shocking 


than  when  they  are  administered  by  sheer  impatience,  or  in  a  fit 
of  passion.  Nor  is  the  case  at  all  softened,  when  they  are 
administered  without  feeling,  in  a  manner  of  uncaring  hardness. 
Whenever  the  sad  necessity  arrives,  there  should  be  time  enough 
taken,  after  the  wrong  or  detection,  to  produce  a  calm  and 
thoughtful  revision;  and  a  just  concern  for  the  wrong,  as  evinced 
by  the  parent,  should  be  wakened,  if  possible,  in  the  child.  I 
would  not  be  understood,  however,  in  advising  this  more  tardy 
and  delicate  way  of  proceeding,  to  justify  no  exceptions.  There 
are  cases,  now  and  then,  in  the  outrageous  and  shocking  miscon- 
duct of  some  boy,  where  an  explosion  is  wanted ;  where  the  father 
represents  God  best  by  some  terrible  outburst  of  indignant  vio- 
lated feeling,  and  becomes  an  instant  avenger,  without  any 
counsel  or  preparation  w^iatever.  Nothing  else  expresses  fitly 
what  is  due- to  such  kind  of  conduct.  And  there  is  many  a  grown- 
up man,  who  will  remember  such  an  hour  of  discipline,  as  the 
time  when  the  plowshare  of  God's  truth  went  into  his  soul  like 
redemption  itself.  That  was  the  shock  that  woke  him  up  to  the 
staunch  realities  of  principle ;  and  he  will  recollect  that  father, 
as  God's  minister,  typified  to  all  dearest,  holiest,  reverence,  by 
the  pungent  indignations  of  that  time. 

There  is  great  importance  in  the  closing  of  a  penal  discipline. 
Thus  it  should  be  a  law  never  to  cease  from  the  discipline  begun, 
whatever  it  be,  till  the  child  is  seen  to  be  in  a  feeling  that  justi- 
fies the  discipline.  He  is  never  to  be  let  go,  or  sent  away  sulk- 
ing in  a  look  of  willfulness  unsubdued.  Indeed,  he  should  even 
be  required  always  to  put  on  a  pleasant,  tender  look,  such  as 
clears  all  clouds  and  shows  a  beginning  of  fair  weather.  No 
reproof  or  discipline  is  righly  administered  till  this  point  is 
reached.  Nothing  short  of  this  changed  look  gives  any  hope 
of  a  changed  will.     .     .     . 


1  Ibid. 


474 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Have  it  as  a  caution  that,  in  holding  a  magisterial  relation, 
asserting  and  maintaining  law,  discovering  and  redressing  wrong, 
you  are  never,  as  parents,  to  lose  out  the  parental ;  never  to 
check  the  demonstrations  of  your  love;  never  to  cease  from  the 
intercourse  of  play.  If  you  assert  the  law,  as  you  must,  then 
you  must  have  your  gospel  to  go  with  it,  your  pardons  judi- 
ciously dispensed,  your  Christian  sympathies  flowing  out  in 
modes  of  Christian  concern,  vour  whole  administration  tern- 
pered  by  tenderness.  Above  all,  see  that  your  j)atience  is  not 
easily  broken  or  exhausted.^ 

One  of  the  first  duties  of  a  genuinely  Christian  parent  is  to 
show  a  generous  sympathy  with  the  plays  of  his  children,  pro- 
\  I'll:  .:  |)laythings  and  means  of  play,  giving  them  play-times, 
iiritin'j-  suitable  companions  for  them,  and  requiring  thmi  to 
have  it  as  one  of  their  pleasures  to  keep  such  companions  enter- 
taiiad  iii  tliL-ir  phiys,  iii.-iLad  ui"  ])laying  always  for  their  nwn 
mere  self-pleasing.  Sometimes,  too,  the  parent,  li:i\  ing  a  hearty 
interest  in  ilu-  [)lays  of  his  children,  will  di-op  <iui,  lur  tlie  liuie, 
the  sense  <■>{  hi.s  vear--,  ami  ii'm  int<>  tlir  frolic  of  tlicir  mood  with 
them.  Tiny  wiil  rnjoy  no  other  {»hiy-tiint'  ><»  nuich  as  thai,  and 
it  will  !i;i\-«-  \\\r  i  ll'cct  to  make  the  aui  1  !<>!•! !\-,  -.o  far  iiiilx  iit,  ju<t  as 
much  stronger  anil  more  welcome,  a-  it  h:i-  brought  itself  closer 
to  them,  aiitl  given  ihem  a  mure  eumplute  .-how  ul'  .-\  iujalhv. 

On  the  same  principle,  it  lia-  an  excellent  effect  to  make  nnuh 
of  the  bi!i]i<]ays  of  children,  heeause  it  shows  them,  liulc  and 
dependent  a-  t1iey  are.  to  hv  lirld  in  '-^o  mueli  greater  estimation 
in  the  house.  When  thc\'  iia\<'  each  theii-  own  (hi\  ,  when  thai 
day  is  su  remembered  and  observed  as  to  indieate  a  n  al  and  felt 
intert'-t  in  it  by  ;il],  th<  n  tlif  home  in  which  thev  are  so  cher- 
ished is  proportionately  endeared  to  i't-ellng,  and  what  iias  mag- 
nified tht  ni  thev  are  readv  to  maii-nifv. 


'  iBushnell. 


DOMESTIC    ASPECTS. 


475 


On  the  same  principle,  too,  public  days  and  festivals,  those 
of  the  school,  those  of  the  state,  and  those  of  religion,  are  to  be 
looked  upon  with  favor,  as  times  in  which  they  are  to  be  glad- 
dened by  the  shows,  and  plays,  and  simple  pleasures  appropriate 
to  the  occasions  ;  care  being  only  taken  to  put  them  in  no  con- 
nection with  vice,  or  any  possible  excess.  Let  them  see  what 
is  to  be  seen,  enjoy  what  is  to  be  enjoyed,  and  shun  with 
just  so  much  greater  sensibility  whatever  is  loose,  or  wild,  ur 

wicked. 

Happily  there  is  now  such  an  abundance  of  games  and  plays 
prepared  for  the  entertainment  of  children,  flint  there  is  no  need 
of  allowino:  them  in  anv  that  stand  associated  with  vice.  Those 
plays  are  generally  to  be  most  favored  that  are  to  Ije  had  only  in 
the  open  air,  and  in  forms  of  exercise  that  give  sprightliness  and 
robu.stness  to  the  body.  At  the  same  time,  tliere  needs  tt»  be  a 
])reparation  of  devices  for  the  entertainment  of  children  in-doors 
in  the  evening;  for  the  })rophet  did  not  give  it  as  a  picture  of 
the  happv  d:iv-  of  Jerusalem,  that  the  streets  of  the  city  -hould 
be  full  of  boys  and  girls  playing  there  in  the  evening,  or  into 
the  niglit,  awav  from  their  })arents  and  the  supervision  of  their 
home.  There  is  anytlung  signified  in  that  but  happiness  and 
public  well-being.  Christian  fathers  and  mothers  will  never 
suffer  their  children  to  be  out  in  tlie  public  streets  in  the  even- 
imr,  unless  thev  are  themselves  too  loose  and  scdf-indulgcnt  to 
assume  that  care  of  the  conduct  and  the  hours  of  their  ehildreu, 
which  is  imposed  upon  them  by  their  parental  resi)onsibilitics. 
In  eountrv  places,  far  removed  from  all  the  haunts  (d'  vice,  and 
in  neighborhoods  where  there  are  no  vicious  children,  it  ndght 
work  no  injury  if  boys  were  allowed  to  be  out,  now  and  tlien, 
in  their  coasting  or  skating  parties  in  the  evening.  But  the 
better  rule  in  large  towns,  the  absolute  rule,  having  no  excep- 


.f 


476 


MAN   AND   HIS   KELATIONS. 


tions  as  regards  very  young  children,  will  be  that  they  are  never 
to  be  out  or  away  from  home  in  the  evening.  Meantime,  it  will 
be  the  duty  of  the  parents,  and  a  kind  of  study  especially  of  the 
mother,  to  find  methods  of  making  the  house  no  mere  prison, 
but  a  place  of  attraction,  and  of  always  cheerful  and  pleasant 
society.  She  will  provide  books  that  will  feed  their  intelligence 
and  exercise  their  tastes — pictures,  games,  diversions,  plays ;  set 
them  to  inventing  such  themselves,  teaching  them  how  to  carry 
on  their  little  society,  i.i  the  playful  turns  of  good  nature  and 
fun,  by  which  they  stimulate  and  quicken  each  other;  drilling 
them  in  music,  and  setting  them  forward  in  it  by  such  beginnings 
that  they  will  shortly  be  found  exercising  and  training  each 
other;  shedding  over  all  the  play,  infusing  into  all  the  glee,  a 
certain  sober  and  thoughtful  look  of  character  and  principle,  so 
that  no  overgrown  appetite  for  sport  may  render  violent  pleasures 
necessary,  but  that  small,  and  gentle,  and  easy,  and  almost  sober 
pleasures,  may  suffice ;  becoming,  at  last,  even  most  satisfactory. 
Here  is  the  field  of  the  mother's  greatest  art,  viz. :  in  the  finding 
how  to  make  a  happy  and  good  evening  for  her  children.  Here 
it  is  that  the  lax,  faithless,  worthless  mother  most  entirely  fails; 
here  the  good  and  wise  mother  wins  her  best  success.^ 


1  Ibid. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


j^__ 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 

Man  perfected  by  society  is  the  best  of  all  animals.  —  Aristotle. 

TO  understand  man  we  must  look  beyond  the  individual  man 
and  his  actions  or  interests,  and  view  him  in  combination 
with  his  fellows.     It  is  in  society  that  man  first  feels  what  he  is, 
firsfc  becomes  what  he  can  be.     In  society  an  altogether  new  set 
of  spiritual  activities  are  evolved  in  him,  and  the  old  immeasur- 
ably quickened  and  strengthened.     Society  is  the  genial  element 
wherein  his  nature  first  lives  and  grows ;  the  solitary  man  were 
but  a  small  portion  of  himself,  and  must  continue  forever  folded 
in,  stunted  and  only  half  alive.     '^Already,^^  says  a  deep  Thinker, 
with  more  moaning  than  will  disclose  itself  at  once,  "  my  opin- 
ion, my  conviction,  gains  infinitely  in  strength  and  sureness  the 
moment  a  second  mind  has  adopted  it."     Such,  even  in  its  sim- 
plest form,  is  association ;  so  wondrous  the  communion  of  soul 
with  soul  as  directed  to  the  mere  act  of  Knowing !     In  other 
higher  acts  the  wonder  is  still  more  manifest;  as  in  that  portion 
of  our  being  which  we  name  the  Moral :  for  properly,  indeed, 
all  communion  is  of  a  moral  sort,  whereof  such  intellectual 
communion  (in  the  act  of  knowing)  is  itself  an  example.     But, 
with  regard  to  Morals,  strictly  so  called,  it  is  in  Society,  we 
might  almost  say,  that  Morality  begins ;  here,  at  least,  it  takes 
an  altogether  new  form,  and  on  every  side,  as  in  living  growth, 

(477) 


478 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


expands  itself.      The  Duties  of  Man  to  himself,  to    what    is 
Highest  in  himself,  make  but  the  First  Table  of  the  Law;  to 
the  First  Table  is  now  superadded  a  Second,  with  the  Duties  of 
Man  to  his  Xeiglibor;  whereby  also  the  significance  of  the  First 
now  assumes  its  true  importance.     Man  \us  joined  himself  ^vith 
man;  soul  acts  and  reacts  on  soul ;  a  mystic,  miraculous,  unfath- 
omable Union  establishes  itself;  Life,  in  all  it  elements,  has  be- 
come  intensated,  consecrated.     The  lightning-spark  of  Thought, 
generated,  or  say,  rather,  heaven-kindled,  in  the  solitary  mhid,' 
awakens  its  express  likeness  in  another  mind,  in  a  thousand 
other  minds,  and  all  blaze  up  together  in  combined  fire  ;  rever- 
berated from  to  mind,  fed  also  with  fresh  fuel  in  each,  it  acquires 
incalculable  new  light  as  Thought,  incalculable  new  heat  as  con- 
verted into  Action.     By  and  by  a  common  store  of  Thought  can 
accumulate,  and  be  transmitted  as  an   everlasting   possession. 
Literature,  whether  as  preserved  in  the  memory  of  Bards,  in 
Runes  and  Hieroglyphs  engraved  on  stone,  or  in  Books  of  writ- 
ten or  printed  paper,  comes  into  existence,  and  begins  to  play  its 
wondrous  part.     Politics  are  formed;   the  weak  submitting  to 
the  strong;  with  a  willing  loyalty,  giving  obedience  that  he  may 
receive  guidance;    or  say,  rather,  in  honor  of  our  nature,  the 
ignorant  submitting  to  the  wise;    fur  so  it  is  in  all,  even  the 
rudest,  communities— man  never  yields  himself  wliolly  to  brute 
Force,  but  always  to  moral  Greatness*  thus  the  universal  title 
of  respect,  from  the  Oriental  Sficil:,  from  the  Sachem  of  the  red 
Indians,  down  to  oiir  English  Sir,  implies  only  that  he  whom  we 
mean  to  honor  is  our  Senior.     List,  as  the  crown  and  all-sup- 
porting keystone  of  the  fabric.  Religion   arises.     The  devout 
meditation  of  the  isolated  man,  whicli  flitted  through  his  soul 
like  a  transient  tone  of  Love  and  Awe  from  unknown  lands,  ac- 
quires certainty,  continuance,  when  it  is  shared  in  by  his  brother 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


479 


men.  ^^  Where  two  or  three  are  gatlicred  together'^  in  the  name 
of  the  Highest,  there  first  does  the  Highest,  as  it  is  written, 
*^  appear  among  them  to  bless  them;'^  there  first  does  an  Altar 
and  act  of  united  Worship  open  a  way  from  Earth  to  Heaven  ; 
whereon,  were  it  but  a  simple  Jacob's-ladder,  the  heavenly  ^les- 
sengers  will  travel,  with  glad  tidings  and  unspeakable  gifts  for 
men.  Sacli  is  Society,  the  vital  articulation  of  many  individ- 
uals into  a  new  collective  individual :  greatly  the  most  important 
of  man's  attainments  on  this  earth;  that  in  which,  and  by  vir- 
tue of  which,  all  his  other  attainments  and  attempts  find  their 
arena  and  have  their  value.  Considered  well.  Society  is  the 
standing  wonder  of  our  existence ;  a  true  region  of  the  Super- 
natural ;  as  it  were,  a  second  all-embracing  Life,  wherein  our 
first  individual  Life  becomes  doubly  and  trebly  alive,  and  what- 
ever of  Infinitude  was  in  us  bodies  itself  forth,  and  becomes 
visible  and  active.^ 

It  is  not  well  to  keep  entirely  apart  from  the  stream  of  com- 
mon life  ;  so,  though  I  never  go  out  when  busy,  nor  keep  late 
hours,  I  find  it  pleasanter  and  better  to  enter  somewhat  into 
society.  I  thus  meet  with  many  entertaining  acquaintances,  and 
some  friends.  I  can  never,  indeed,  expect  in  America,  or  in 
this  world,  to  form  relations  with  nobler  persons  than  I  have 
already  known;  nor  can  I  put  my  heart  into  these  new  ties  as 
into  the  old  ones,  though  probably  it  would  still  respond  to  com- 
manding excellence.  But  my  present  circle  satisfies  my  wants. 
As  to  what  is  called  ^'  good  society,"  I  am  wholly  indifferent. 
I  know  several  Avomen  whom  I  like  very  much,  and  yet  more 
men.  I  hear  good  music,  which  answers  ray  social  desires  better 
than  any  other  intercourse  can;  and  I  love  four  or  five  interest- 
ing children,  in  whom  I  always  find  more  genuine  sympathy 
than  in  their  elders.^ 


'Carlyle. 


2  Margaret  Fuller. 


480 


MAN   AND   HIS  KELATIONS. 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


481 


You  ask  me  what  society  would  have  of  you.     Anything  that 
you  possess  which  has  value  in  society.     Society  is  not  particular 
on  this  point.     .     .     .     Can  you  tell  a  story  well  ?     Have  you 
traveled,  and  have  you  a  pleasant  faculty  of  telling  your  advent- 
ures?    Are  you  educated,  and  able  to  impart  valuable  ideas  and 
general  information  ?    Have  you  vivacity  in  conversation  ?    Can 
you  sing?     .     .     .     Arc  you  willing  to  assist  those  to  a  pleasant 
evening  who  are  not  able  to  stand  through  a  party  ?     Do  vou 
wear  a  good  coat,  and  can  you  bring  good  dress  into  the  orna- 
mental department  of  society  ?     Are  you  up  to  anything  in  the 
way  of   private  theatricals?     If  you   do   not  j^ossoss  a  decent 
degree  of  sense,  can  you  talk  decent  nonsense  ?     Are  you  a  good 
beau,  and  are  you  w^illing  to  make  yourself  useful  in  waiting  on 
the  ladies  on  all  occasions?     Have  you   a  good   set  of  teeth, 
which  you  are  willing  to  show  whenever  the  wit  of  the  company 
gets  off  a  good  thing?     Are  you  a  true,  straightforward,  manly 
fellow,  with  whose  healthful  and  uncorrupted  nature  it  is  good 
for  society  to  come  in  contact  ?     In  short,  do  you  possess  any- 
thing of  any  social  value?     If  you  do,  and  are  willing  to  impart 
it,  society  will  yield  itself  to  your  touch.     If  vou  have  nothino", 
then    society,   as  such,   owes   you    nothing.      Christian    philan- 
throphy  may  ])ut  its  arm  around  you,  as  a  lonelv  voumr  man, 
about  to  spoil  for  want  of  something,  but  it  is  very  sad  and 
humiliating  for  a  young  man  to  be  brought  to  that.     There  are 
people  Avho  devote  themselves  to  nursing  yonng  men,  and  doing 
them  good.     If  they  invite  you  to  tea,  go  by  all  means,  and  try 
your  hand.     If,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  you  can  prove  to 
them  that  your  society  is  desirable,  you  have  won  a  point.    Don't 
be  patronized.     .     .     .     The  more  you  mix  with  men,  the  less 
you  will  be  disposed  to  quarrel,  and  the  more  charitable  and 
liberal  will  you  become.     The  fact  that  you  do  not  understand  a 


man,  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  your  fault  as  his.  There  arc  a  good 
many  chances  in  favor  of  the  conclusion  that,  if  you  fail  to  like 
an  individual  whose  acquaintance  you  make,  it  is  through  your 
own  ignorance  and  illiberality.  So  I  say,  meet  every  man  hon- 
estly; seek  to  know  him;  and  you  w^ill  find  that  in  those  points 
in  which  he  differs  from  you  rests  his  powxr  to  instruct  you, 
enlarge  you,  and  do  you  good.  Keep  your  heart  open  for  ev^ery- 
body,  and  be  sure  that  you  shall  have  your  reward.  You  shall 
find  a  jewel  under  the  most  uncouth  exterior ;  and  associated 
w^ith  homeliest  manners  and  the  oddest  ways  and  the  ugliest 
faces,  you  will  find  rare  virtues,  fragrant  little  humanities,  and 
inspiring  heroisms. 

Again  :  you  can  have  no  influence  unless  you  are  social.  An 
unsocial  man  is  as  devoid  of  influence  as  an  ice-peak  is  of 
verdure.  .  .  .  The  revenge  which  society  takes  upon  the 
man  who  isolates  himself,  is  as  terrible  as  it  is  inevitable.  The 
pride  which  sits  alone,  and  Avill  do  nothing  for  society  because 
society  disgusts  It,  or  because  its  possessor  does  not  at  once  have 
accorded  to  him  his  position,  will  have  the  privilege  of  sit- 
ting alone  in  its  sublime  disgust  till  it  drops  into  the  grave. 
The  world  sweeps  by  the  isolated  man,  carelessly,  remorselessly, 
contemptuously.  He  has  no  hold  upon  society,  because  he  is 
not  a  part  of  It.  The  boat  that  refuses  to  pause  in  its  passage, 
and  throw  a  line  to  smaller  craft,  wdll  bring  no  tow  into  port. 
So  let  me  tell  you,  that  if  you  have  an  honorable  desire  in  your 
heart  for  influence,  you  must  be  a  thoroughly  social  man.  You 
can  not  move  men  until  you  are  one  of  them.  They  w^ill  not 
follow  vou  until  thev  have  heard  vour  voice,  shaken  vour  hand, 
and  fully  learned  your  principles  and  your  sympathies.  It 
makes  no  difference  how  much  you  know,  or  how  much  you  are 

capable  of  doing.     You  may  pile  accomplishment  upon  acquisi- 
32 


11 


482 


MAS    AND   HIS   KELATIOSS. 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


483 


tion  mountain  high ;  but  if  you  fail  to  bo  a  social  man,  demon- 
strating to  society  that  your  lot  is  with  the  rest,  a  little  child 
with  a  song  in  its  mouth,  and  a  kiss  for  all,  and  a  pair  of  innocent 
hands  to  la°y  upon  the  knees,  shall  lead  more  hearts  and  change 
the  direction  of  more  lives  than  you.' 

One  ought  to  love  society  if  he  wishes  to  enjoy  solitude.  It 
is  a  social^nature  that  solitude  works  upon  with  the  most  various 
power.  If  one  is  misanthropic,  and  betakes  himself  to  loneli- 
ness that  he  may  get  away  from  hateful  things,  solitude  is  a 
silent  emptiness  to  him.  But  as,  after  a  bell  has  tolled  or  rung, 
we  hoar  its  sounds  dying  away  in  vibrations  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  whon  thev  have  wholly  ceased,  feel  that  the  very  silenee  is 
musical  too,  so  is  it  with  solitude,  which  is  but  a  few  bars  of 
rest  between  strains  of  life,  and  would  not  be  what  it  is  if  we 
did  not  go  from  activity  to  it,  and  into  activity  from  it. 

Silence  is  thus  a  novelty;   and  a  sympathy  with  forms  of 
nature,  and  with  phenomena  of  light  or  twilight,  is  heightened 
by  its  contrast  with  ordinary  experience.     Besides,  one   likes  to 
stand  out  alone  before  himself.     In  life  he  is  acting  and  acted 
upon.     A  throng  of  excitements  are  spurring  him  through  vari- 
ous rapid  races.     Self-consideration  is  almost  lost.     He  scarcely 
knows  what  of  himself  is  himself,  and  what  is  but  the  working 
of  others  upon  him.     It  is  good,  now  and  then,  to  sit  by  one's 
self,  as  if  all  the  world  were  dead,  and  see  what  is  left  of  that 
which  glowed  and  raged  along  the  arena.     What  are  we  out  of 
temptation,  out  of  excitement?     In  the  loom  we  are  the  shuttle, 
beaten  back  and    forth,   carrying  the  thread  of  affairs  out  of 
which  grows  the  fabric  of  life.     Slip  the  band ;  stop  the  loom. 
What  is  the  thread  ?    What  is  the  fabric  ?     .     .     . 

Our  solitudes  act  upon  affections  and  friendships  just  as  death 
docs.     For  death  draws  into  the  grave  not  alone  the  dishonored 

1  Holland. 


body,  but  also  all  those  weaknesses  of  the  soul  and  imperfections 
which  sprang  from  its  alliance  with  the  body,  and  we  then  see 
our  friends  purged  from  their  faults,  dressed  in  the  rarest  excel- 
lences, and  touched  with  golden  glory.  Thus,  too,  is  it  in  the 
separation  and  solitude  of  the  wilderness.  They  whom  we  love 
rise  up  in  a  mellowed  remembrance,  as  a  tree  stands  charmed 
in  a  midsummer's  moonlight,  its  broken  branches  hidden,  its 
unequal  boughs  all  rounded  out  and  softened  into  symmetry,  aud 
the  Avhole  glowing  with  silver  light,  as  if  transfigured.  Then 
we  entertain  thoughts  of  affection  such  as  might  beseem  a  God. 
We  enter  into  its  royalties,  and  conceive  its  function,  and  know 
that  it  is  the  life  of  the  world,  the  breath  of  every  holy  soul, 
the  atmosphere  of  the  Divine  Heart,  and  the  substance  of  heaven. 
When  the  tranquil  eye  of  God,  looking  around,  traces  that  circle 
within  which  love  wholly  prevails,  so  that  all  things  spring  from 
it,  and  it  lives  in  them  always  and  perfectly,  then  that  circle  is 
heaven,  and  such  are  the  bounds  thereof.^ 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods; 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore; 
There  is  society  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar: 

I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  can  not  all  conceal.' 

How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet,  is  solitude! 
But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat 
Whom  I  may  whisper.  Solitude  is  sweet!' 

We  must  certainly  acknowledge  that  solitude  is  a  fine  thing; 
but  it  is  a  pleasure  to  have  some  one  who  can  answer,  and  to 


-  »i 


11 

a 


i 


•1 

M 


n 


I 


iBeecher. 


«  Byron. 


8  Cowper. 


■  ^1 

■  III 


484 


MAX    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


485 


whom  we  can  say,  from  time  to  time,  that  solitude  is  a  fine 

thing.^ 

Solitude  shows  us  .v'hat  we  should  be ;  society  shows  us  what 

we  are.'^  ' 

A  certain  degree  of  solitude  seems  necessary  to  the  full  growth 
and  spread  'of  the  highest  mind  ;  and  therefore  must  u  very  ex- 
tensive iutereourse  with  men  stifle  many  a  holy  germ,  and  scare 
away  the  gods,  who  shun  the  restless  tumult  of  noisy  companies 
and  the  discussion  of  petty  interests.' 

If  the  mind  loves  solitude,  it  has  thereby  acquired  a  loftier 
character,  and  it  becomes  still  more  noble  when  the  taste    is 

indulged  in.* 

In  complete  solitude  the  eye  wants  objects,  the  heart  wants 
attachments,  the  understanding  wants  reciprocation.  The  char- 
acter loses  its  tenderness  when  it  has  nothing  to  love,  its  firmness 
when  it  has  none  to  strengthen  it,  its  sweetness  when  it  has 
nothing  to  soothe  it,  its  patience  when  it  meets  no  contradiction, 
its  humility  when  it  is  surrounded  by  dependants,  and  its  deli- 
cacy in  the  conversations  of  the  uninformed.' 

Fashion.-"  ^Irs.  Grundy,"  in  the  play,  is  but  an  imperson- 
ation of  the  conventionalism  of  the  world.  Custom,  habit, 
fashion,  use,  and  wont,  are  all  represented  in  her.  She  may  be 
a  very  vulgar  and  commonplace  person,  but  her  power  is  never- 
theless prodigious.  We  copy  and  in.itatc  her  in  all  things. 
We  are  pinned  to  her  apron-string.  We  are  obedient  at  her 
bidding.  We  are  indolent  and  complaisant,  and  fear  to  provoke 
her  ill  word.  "What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  say?"  quells  many  a 
noble  impulse,  hinders  many  a  self-denying  act. 

There  seems  to  be  a  general  though  unconscious  conspiracy 
existing  against  each  other's  individuality  and  manhood.  We 
discourage  self-reliance,  and  demand   conformity.     Each    must 


1  Balzac. 


!  Cecil. 


3  Novalis. 


♦  Humboldt. 


5  Hannah  More. 


see  with  others'  eves,  and  think  throujifh  others'  minds.  We  are 
idolaters  of  customs  and  observances,  k)oking  behind,  not  for- 
ward and  upward.  Pinned  down  and  hekl  back  by  ignorance 
and  weakness,  we  are  afraid  of  standing  alone,  or  tliinking  and 
acting  for  ourselves.  Conventionalism  rules  all.  We  fear  step- 
ping out  into  the  free  air  of  independent  thought  and  action. 
We  refuse  to  plant  ourselves  upon  our  instincts,  and  to  vindicate 
our  spiritual  freedom.  We  are  content  to  bear  others'  fruit,  not 
our  own. 

In  private  affairs  the  same  spirit  is  alike  deleterious.  We  live 
as  society  direct^,  each  according  to  the  standard  of  our  class. 
We  have  a  superstitious  reverence  for  custom.  We  dress  and 
eat  and  live  in  conformity  with  the  Grundy  law.  So  long  as  we 
do  this,  we  are  ^'  respectable,''  according  to  class  notions.  Thus 
many  rush  open-eyed  upon  misery,  for  no  better  excuse  than  a 
foolish  fear  of  ^^the  world."  Thcv  are  afraid  of  "what  others 
w^ill  say  of  them  ;"  and,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  those  who 
might  probably  raise  the  voice  of  censure  are  not  the  wise  or  the 
far-seeing,  but  much  oftener  the  foolish,  the  vain,  and  the  shortr- 
sighted. 

Sir  William  Temple  has  said  that  "  a  restlessness  in  men's 
minds  to  be  something  that  they  are  not,  and  to  have  something 
that  they  have  not,  is  the  root  of  all  immorality."  The  state- 
ment is  strictly  correct.  It  has  been  attested  by  univers;'! 
experience. 

Keeping  up  appearances  is  one  of  the  greatest  social  evils  of 
the  age.  There  is  a  general  effort,  more  particularly  among 
the  middle  and  upper  classes,  at  seeming  to  be  something 
that  they  are  not.  They  put  on  appearances,  live  a  life  of 
sham,  and  endeavor  to  look  something  superior  to  what  they 
really  are. 


1 


i 


i; 


f»f 


i. 


'Ill 


i   i 


1  I 
I 


486 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


48; 


''  Respectability ''  is  one  of  the  chief  aims.  Respectability, 
regarded  In  its  true  sense,  is  a  desirable  thing.  To  be  respected, 
on  right  grounds,  is  an  object  which  every  man  and  woman  is 
justified  in  attaining.  But  modern  respectability  consists  of 
external  appearances.  It  means  wearing  fine  clothes,  dwelling 
in  fine  houses,  and  living  in  fine  style.^ 

The  realm  is  as  wide  as  the  world,  and  as  far-reaching  as  all 
the  generations,  over  which  fashion  hath  extended  her  scepter. 
For  thousands  of  years  she  hath  sat  queen  over  all  the  earth, 
and  the  revolutions  that  rock  down  all  other  thrones  have  not 
in  the  slightest  affected  her  domination.      Other  constitutions 
have  been  torn,  and  other  laws  trampled ;  but  to  her  decrees 
conquerors  have  bowed  their  plumes,  and  kings  have  uncovered. 
Victoria  is  not  Queen  of  England ;  Napoleon  was  not  Emperor 
of  France  ;  Isabella  was  not  Queen  of  Spain.     Fashion  has  been 
regnant  over  all  the   earth,   and  lords   and   dukes,  kings  and 
queens,   have   been  the   subjects  of  her   realm.      .      .      .     lou 
have  limited  your  observation  of  the   sway  of  fashion   if  you 
have  considered  it  only  as  it  decides   individual   and  national 
costumes.     It  makes  the  rules  of  behavior.     It  wields  an  influ- 
ence in  artistic  spheres— often  deciding  what  pictures  shall  hang 
in  the  house,  what  music  shall  be  played,  what  ornaments  shall 
stand  upon  the  mantle.      The  poor  man  will  not  have  on  his 
wall  the  cheap  wood-cut  that  he  can  afford,  because  he  can  not 
have  a  great  daub  like  that  which  hangs  on  the  rich  man's  wall, 
and  costing  three  hundred  dollars. 

Fashion  helps  to  make  up  religious  belief.  It  often  decides  to 
what  church  we  shall  go,  and  what  religious  tenets  we  shall 
adopt.  It  goes  into  the  pulpit,  and  decides  the  gown,  and  the 
surplice,  and  the  style  of  rhetoric. 

It  goes  into  literature  and  arranges  the  binding,  the  type,  the 


1  Smiles. 


illustrations  of  the  book,  and  oftentimes  the  sentiments  expressed 
and  the  theories  evolved. 

Men  the  most  independent  in  feeling  are  by  it  compelled  to 
submit  to  social  customs.  And  before  I  stop  I  Avant  to  show 
you  that  fashion  has  been  one  of  tlie  most  potent  of  reformers, 
and  one  of  the  vilest  of  usurpers.  Sometimes  it  has  been  an 
angel  from  heaven,  and  at  others  it  has  been  the  mother  of 
harlots. 

As  the  world  grows  better  there  will  be  as  much  fashion  as 
now,  but  it  will  be  a  different  fashion.  In  the  future  life  white 
robes  always  have  been  and  always  will  be  in  the  fashion.  .  .  . 
Excessive  fashion  is  to  be  charged  with  many  of  the  worst  evils 
of  society,  and  its  path  has  often  been  strew^n  with  the  bodies  of 
the^  slain. 

It  has  often  set  up  a  false  standard  by  which  people  are  to  be 
judged.  Our  common  sense,  as  well  as  all  the  divine  intimations 
on  the  subject,  teach  us  that  people  ought  to  be  esteemed  accord- 
ing to  their  individual  and  moral  attainments.  The  man  who 
has  the  most  nobility  of  soul  should  be  first,  and  he  w^ho  has 
the  least  of  such  qualities  should  stand  last.  No  crest,  or  shield, 
or  escutcheon,  can  indicate  one's  moral  peerage.  Titles  of  duke, 
lord,  esquire,  earl,  viscount,  or  patrician,  ought  not  to  raise  one 
into  the  first  rank.  Some  of  the  meanest  men  I  have  ever  known 
had  at  the  end  of  their  name  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  and  F.  R.  S. 
Truth,  honor,  charity,  heroism,  self-sacrifice,  should  win  highest 
favor;  but  inordinate  fashion  says — ^^  Count  not  a  woman's  vir- 
tues; count  her  rings;"  "Look  not  at  the  contour  of  the  head, 
but  see  the  way  she  combs  her  hair ; "  "  Ask  not  what  noble  deeds 
have  been  accomplished  by  that  man's  hand ;  but  is  it  white  and 
soft?"  Ask  not  what  good  sense  was  in  her  conv^ersation,  but 
"in  what  was  she  dressed?"     Ask  not  whether  there  was  hos- 


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488 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


pitality  and  cheerfulness  in  the  house,  but  "in  what  style  do 

thev  live?'' 

As  a  consequence,  some  of  the  most  ignorant  and  vicious  of 
men  are  at  the  top,  and  some  of  the  most  virtuous  and  intelligent 
at  the  bottom.  Daring  the  late  war  we  suddenly  saw  men 
hurled  up  into  the  highest  social  positions.  Had  they  suddenly 
reformed  from  evil  habits  ?  or  graduated  in  a  science  ?  or  achieved 
some  good  work  for  society?  No!  They  simply  had  obtained 
a  government  contract  I 

This  accounts  for  the  utter  chagrin  which  men  feel  at  the  treat- 
ment they  receive  when  they  lose  their  property.  Hold  up  your 
head  amid  financial  disaster,  like  a  Christian !  Fifty  thousand 
subtracted  from  a  good  man  leaves  how^  much  ?  Honor ;  Truth  ; 
Faith  in  God;  Triumphant  Hope;  and  a  kingdom  of  ineffable 
glorv,  over  which  he  is  to  reign  forever  and  ever. 

If  a  millionaire  should  lose  a  penny  out  of  his  pocket,  would 
he  sit  down  on  a  curb-stone  and  cry?  And  shall  a  man  possessed 
of  everlasting  fortunes  wear  himself  out  with  grief  because  he  has 
lost  worldlv  treasure?  You  have  only  lost  that  in  which  hun- 
dreds  of  wretched  misers  surpass  you ;  and  you  have  saved  that 
which  the  Ciesars,  and  the  Pharaohs,  and  the  Alexanders  could 

never  afford. 

And  yet  society  thinks  differently;  and  you  see  the  most 
intimate  friendships  broken  up  as  the  consequence  of  financial 
embarrassments.     You  say  to  some  one—"  How  is  your  friend 

?''     The  man  looks  bewildered,  and  says,  "  I  do  not  know." 

You  reply,  "  Why,  you  used  to  be  intimate.'^  "  Well,''  says  the 
man,  "our  friendship  has  been  dropped;  the  man  has  failed." 

Proclamation  has  gone  forth:  "Velvets  must  go  up,  and 
liomespun  must  come  down;"  and  the  question  is,  "How  does 
the  coat  fit?"—  not,  "  Who  wears  it?"     The  power  that  bears 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


489 


the  tides  of  excited  population  up  and  down  our  streets,  and  rocks 
the  world  of  commerce,  and  thrills  all  nations,  Transatlantic  and 
Cisatlantic,  is— clothes.  It  decides  the  last  offices  of  respect ;  and 
how  long  the  dress  shall  be  totally  black;  and  when  it  may 
subside  into  spots  of  grief  on  silk,  calico,  or  gingham.  Men  die 
in  good  circumstances,  but  by  reason  of  extravagant  funeral 
expenses  are  weli-nigh  insolvent  before  they  get  buried.  Many 
men  would  not  die  at  all,  if  they  had  to  wait  until  they  could 
afford  it. 

Excessive  fashion  is  productive  of  a  most  ruinous  strife.  The 
expenditure  of  many  households  is  adjusted  by  what  their  neigh- 
bors have,  not  by  what  they  themselves  can  afford  to  have;  and 
the  great  anxiety  is  as  to  who  shall  have  the  finest  house  and  the 
most  costly  equipage.  The  weapons  used  in  the  warfare  of  social 
life  are  not  Minic  rifles,  and  Dahlgren  guns,  Hotchkiss  shells, 
but  chairs  and  mirrors,  and  vases,  and  Gobelins,  and  Axmini^ters. 
Many  household  establishments  arc  like  racing  steamboats,  pro- 
pelled at  the  utmost  strain  and  risk,  and  just  coming  to  a  terrific 
explosion.  ''Who  cares,"  say  they,  "if  we  only  come  out 
ahead?" 

There  is  no  one  cause  to-day  of  more  financial  embarrasment, 
and  of  more  dishonesty,  than  this  determination,  at  all  hazards, 
to  live  as  well  as  or  better  than  other  people.  There  are  persons 
who  will  risk  their  eternity  upon  one  fine  looking-glass,  or  who 
will  dash  out  the  splendors  of  heaven  to  get  another  trinket. 

"My  house  is  too  small."  "But,"  says  some  one,  ''you  can 
not  pay  for  a  larger."  "Never  mind  that;  my  friends  have  a 
better  residence,  and  so  will  I."  "A  dress  of  that  pattern  I 
must  have.  I  can  not  afford  it  by  a  great  deal ;  but  who  cares 
for  that?  My  neighbor  had  one  from  that  pattern,  and  I  must 
have  one."     There  are  scores  of  men  in  the  dungeons  of  the 


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490 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


491 


penitentiary,  -svho  risked  honor,  business — everything — in  the 
effort  to  ^hine  like  others.  Thoujjh  the  heavens  fall,  thev  must 
be  "  in  the  fashion." 

The  most  famous  frauds  of  the  dav  have  resulted  from  this 
feeling.  It  keeps  hundreds  of  men  struggling  for  their  com- 
mercial existence.  The  trouble  is  that  some  are  cauo^ht  and 
incarcerated,  if  their  larceny  be  small.  If  it  be  great,  they 
escape,  and  build  their  castle  on  the  Rhine.  Men  go  into  jail, 
not  because  they  steal,  but  because  they  did  not  steal  enough. 

Again :  excessive  fashion  makes  people  unnatural  and  untrue. 
It  is  a  factory  from  which  has  come  forth  more  hollow  pretenses, 
and  unmeaning  flatteries,  and  hypocrisies,  than  the  Lowell  Mills 
ever  turned  out  shawls  and  garments. 

Fashion  is  the  greatest  of  all  liars.  It  has  made  society 
insincere.  You  know  not  what  to  believe.  AYhen  people  ask 
vou  to  come,  vou  do  not  know  whether  or  not  they  want  vou  to 
come.  AVhen  they  send  their  regards,  you  do  not  know  whether 
it  is  an  expression  of  their  heart,  or  an  external  civility.  We 
have  learned  to  take  almost  everything  at  a  discount.  Word  is 
sent,  "  Xot  at  home,"  when  they  are  only  too  lazy  to  dress  them- 
selves. They  say,  ^^  The  furnace  has  just  gone  out,"  when  in  truth 
they  have  had  no  fire  in  it  all  winter.  They  apologize  for  the 
unusual  barrenness  of  their  table,  when  they  never  live  any 
better.  They  decry  their  most  luxurious  entertainments,  to  win 
a  shower  of  approval.  They  apologize  for  their  appearance,  as 
though  it  were  unusual,  when  always  at  home  they  look  just  so. 
They  would  make  you  believe  that  some  nice  sketch  on  the  wall 
was  the  work  of  a  master  painter.  ^'  It  was  an  heir-loom,  and 
once  hung  on  the  walls  of  a  castle ;  and  a  duke  gave  it  to  their 
grandfather."  People  who  will  lie  about  nothing  else,  will  lie 
about  a  picture.     On  a  small  income  we  must  make  the  world 


believe  that  we  arc  affluent,  and  our  life  becomes  a  cheat,  a 
counterfeit,  and  a  sham. 

Few  persons  are  really  natural.  When  I  say  this,  I  do  not 
mean  to  slur  cultured  manners.  It  is  right  that  we  should  have 
more  admiration  for  the  sculptured  marble  than  for  the  unhewn 
block  of  the  quarry.  From  many  circles  in  life  fashion  has 
driven  out  vivacity  and  enthusiasm.  A  frozen  dignity  instead 
floats  about  the  room,  and  iceberg  grinds  against  iceberg.  You 
must  not  laugh  outright ;  it  is  vulgar.  You  must  f<m\lc.  You 
must  not  dash  rapidly  across  the  room  :  you  must  cjUdc,  There 
is  a  round  of  bows  and  grins,  and  flatteries,  and  oh's'l  and  ah's! 
and  simperings,  and  namby-pambyism — a  world  of  which  is  not 
worth  one  good,  round,  honest  peal  of  laughter.  From  such  a 
hollow  round  the  tortured  guest  retires  at  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing, and  assures  his  host  that  he  has  enjoyed  himself  .  .  . 
Again  :  inordinate  fashion  is  incompatible  with  happiness.  Those 
who  depend  for  their  comfort  ujDon  the  admiration  of  others  are 
subject  to  frequent  disappointment.  Somebody  will  criticise 
their  appearance,  or  surpass  them  in  brilliancy,  or  will  receive 
more  attention.  Oh!  the  jealousy,  and  detraction,  and  heart- 
burnings of  those  who  move  in  this  bewildered  maze ! 

The  clock  strikes  one,  and  the  company  begins  to  disperse. 
The  host  has  done  everything  to  make  all  his  guests  happy ;  but 
now  that  they  are  on  the  street,  hear  their  criticisms  of  every- 
body and  everything.  "  Did  you  see  her  in  such  and  such 
apparel  ?"  "  Wasn't  she  a  perfect  fright !"  "  What  a  pity  that 
such  an  one  is  so  awkward  and  uncouth!"  '^Well,  really,  I 
would  rather  never  be  spoken  to  than  be  seen  with  such  a 
man  as  that!" 

Poor  butterflies !  Bright  wings  do  not  always  bring  happi- 
ness.    "  She  that  liveth  in  j^leasure  is  dead  while  she  liveth." 


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492 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


11 


III 


U 


The  revelations  of  high  life  tliat  come  to  the  challenge  and  the 
fight  are  only  the  occasional  croppings  out  of  disquietudes  that 
are,  underneath,  like  the  stars  of  heaven  for  multitude,  but  like 
the  demons  of  the  pit  for  hate.  The  misery  that  to-night  in  the 
cellar  cuddles  up  in  the  straw  is  not  so  utter  as  the  princely 
disquietude  which  stalks  through  splendid  drawing-rooms,  brood- 
ing over  the  slights  and  offenses  of  high  life.  The  bitterness 
of  trouble  seems  not  so  unfitting,  when  drank  out  of  a  pewter 
mug,  as  when  it  pours  from  the  chased  lips  of  a  golden  chalice. 
In  the  sharp  crack  of  the  voluptuary's  pistol,  putting  an  end  to 
his  earthly  misery,  I  hear  the  confirmation  that  in  a  hollow, 
fastidious  life  there  is  no  peace.  .  .  .  Fashion  is  the  wovkFs 
undertaker,  and  drives  thousands  of  hearses  to  Laurel  Hill  and 
Greenwood. 

But,  worse  than  that,  this  folly  is  an  intellectual  depletion. 
This  endless  study  of  proprieties  and  etiquette,  patterns  and 
styles,  is  bedwarfing  to  the  intellect.  I  never  knew  a  man  or  a 
woman  of  extreme  fashion  that  knew  much.  How  belittling 
the  study  of  the  cut  of  a  coat,  or  the  tie  of  a  cravat,  or  the 
wrinkle  in  a  shoe,  or  the  color  of  a  ribbon  !  How  they  are 
worried  if  something  gets  untied,  or  hangs  awry,  or  is  not  nicely 
adjusted  I  With  a  mind  capable  of  measuring  the  height  and 
depth  of  great  subjects;  able  to  unravel  mysteries;  to  walk 
through  the  universe;  to  soar  up  into  the  infinity  of  God's 
attributes — hovering  perpetually  over  a  new  style  of  mantilla! 
I  have  known  men,  reckless  as  to  their  character,  and  regardless 
of  interests  momentous  and  eternal,  exasperated  by  the  shape 
of  a  vest  button  ! 

What  is  the  matter  with  that  woman — wrought  up  into  the 
agony  of  despair?     O,  her  muff  is  out  of  fashion  ! 

Worse  than  all,  this  folly  is  not  satisfied  until  it  has  extirpated 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


493 


every  moral  sentiment,  and  blasted  the  soul.  A  wardrobe  is  the 
rock  upon  which  many  a  soul  has  been  riven.  The  excitement 
of  a  luxurious  life  has  been  the  vortex  that  has  swallowed  up 
more  souls  than  the  Maelstrom  off  Norway  ever  devoured  ships. 
What  room  for  elevating  themes  in  a  heart  filled  with  the  trivial 
and  unreal?  Who  can  wonder  that  in  this  haste  for  sun-gilded 
bawbles  and  winged  thistle-down,  men  should  tumble  into  ruin? 
The  travelers  to  destruction  are  not  all  clothed  in  raus.  On  that 
road,  chariot  jostles  against  chariot,  and  behind  steeds  in  harness 
golden-plated  and  glittering,  they  go  down,  coach  and  four,  herald 
and  postilion,  racketing  on  the  hot  pavements  of  hell.  Clear 
the  track  !  Bazaars  hang  out  their  colors  over  the  road ;  and 
trees  of  tropical  fruitfulness  overbranch  the  way.  Xo  sound  of 
woe  disturbs  the  air;  but  all  is  light  and  song,  and  wine  and 
gorgeousness.  The  world  comes  out  to  greet  the  dazzling  pro- 
cession with  Hurrah !  and  Hurrah  !  But,  suddenly,  there  is  a 
halt  and  an  outcry  of  dismay,  and  an  overthrow  worse  than  the 
Red  Sea  tumbling  upon  the  Egyptians.  Shadow  of  grave-stones 
upon  finest  silk  I  Wormwood  squeezed  into  impearled  goblets! 
Death,  with  one  cold  breath,  withering  the  leaves  and  freezing 
the  fountains. 

In  the  wild  tumult  of  the  last  day — the  mountains  fallinn:,  the 
heavens  flying,  the  thrones  uprising,  the  universe  assembling ; 
amid  the  boom  of  the  last  great  thunder-peal,  and  under  the 
crackling  of  a  burning  world — what  will  become  of  the  fop  and 
the  dandy  ?^ 

There  is  a  set  of  people  whom  I  can  not  bear — the  pinks  of 
fashionable  propriety — whose  every  word  is  precise,  and  Avhose 
every  movement  is  unexceptionable,  but  who,  though  versed  in 
all  the  categories  of  polite  behavior,  have  not  a  particle  of  soul 
or  cordiality  about  them.     We  allow  that  their  manners  may  Lc 

I  Talmage. 


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494 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


495 


abundantly  correct.  There  may  be  eloquence  in  every  gesture, 
and  gracefulness  in  every  position;  not  a  smile  out  of  place,  and 
not  a  Step  that  would  not  bear  the  measurement  of  the  severest 
scrutiny.  Tl^.is  is  all  very  fine  :  but  ^^h•^t  I  want  is  the  heart 
and  gayety  of  social  intercourse ;  the  frankness  that  spreads  case 
and  animation  around  it ;  the  eye  that  speaks  affiibility  to  all, 
that  chases  timidity  from  every  bosom,  and  tells  every  man  in 
the  company  to  be  confident  and  happy.  This  is  Avhat  I 
conceive  to  be  the  virtue  of  the  text,  and  not  the  sickening 
formality  of  those  who  walk  by  rule,  and  would  reduce  the 
whole  of  human   life  to  a    wire-bound   system    of  misery   and 

constraint.^ 

A  lack  of  earnestness  in  any  great  or  useful  pursuit,  a  blind 
worship  of  rank  and  of  those  who  hold  it,  a  childish  sensitive- 
ness to  the  charms  of  personal  adornment,  a  disposition  to  mag- 
nify above  things  essential  all  matters  of  form  and  ceremony,  a 
hatricd   of  labor  and   contempt   for  the   laborer,   and   a  selfish 
jealousy  that  walks  hand  in  hand  with  an  undisguised  personal 
vanity— these   are   the  leading  characteristics   of  what   may  be 
denominated  a  fashionable  style  of  manhood  and  w^omanhood— 
the  basis  of  an  outside  life,  ordered  in  obedience  to  an  outside 
law.     You  will  perceive  that  my  definition  will  establish  a  great 
diiference  between  the  fashionable  man  and  the  polite  or  gentle 
man.     The  fashionable  man  is  often  popularly  mistaken  for  the 
polite  man,  and,  I  may  say,  is  greatly  interested  in  being  mis- 
taken for  him.     Indeed,  he  often  mistakes  himself  for  him.    The 
difference  between  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  fashion  is  just  as 
distinct  as  that  between  a  man  of  fiishion  and  an  unpretending 
boor.     The  fashionable  man  may  be,  and  often  is,  a  brute  in  his 
instincts  and  in  his  secret  life;   he  may  be  a  cringing  puppy 
among  his  superiors ;  he  may  be  the  meanest  toady  of  power 


and  place ;  he  may  be  intolerably  insolent  among  those  whom 
he  deems  his  inferiors;  but  certainly  these  things  are  not  piossiblc 
w^ith  a  gentleman.  .  .  .  Now  for  a  glance  at  another 
picture.  Here  and  there  in  the  world — more  numerous  in  tlie 
aecrre^xate  than  those  know  who  do  not  love  their  society — there 
are  men  and  women  Ayhose  lives  are  ordered  from  within;  whose 
motive  and  regulating  force  is  love  of  God  and  love  of  men; 
who  are  loyal  to  conscience,  earnest  in  all  benevolent  enterprise, 
self-sacrificing,  most  happy  in  the  communication  of  happiness, 
without  jealousy  and  w^ithout  hypocrisy;  who  esteem  it  a  more 
honorable  thing  to  forgive  an  injury  than  to  resent  one;  who 
are  humble  in  their  estimate  of  themselves,  and  who  in  honor 
prefer  one  another.  This,  very  briefly,  is  what  I  understand  to 
be  the  Christian  stvle  of  manhood  and  womanhood. 

Now  the  difference  between  this  and  the  fashionable  stvle  is 
certainly  the  difference  bctv/ocn  antagonistic  oppositcs.  The 
man  of  fashion  is  exclusive,  and  lius  no  sympathy  with  any  but 
his  class  or  clique.  The  Christian  is  universal  in  his  sympathies, 
embracing  in  his  prayer  and  in  his  charitable  endeavor  every 
nation,  class,  and  individual.  One  seeks  only  to  make  the  world 
useful  to  himself;  the  other  to  make  himself  useful  to  the  world. 
One  seeks  for,  or  seizes,  priyilege ;  the  other  is  happiest  in  min- 
istry.     0:ie  is  a  despot ;  the  other  is  a  democrat.^ 

Without  depth  of  thought,  or  earnestness  of  feeling,  or 
strength  of  purpose,  living  an  unreal  life,  sacrificing  substance 
to  show,  substituting  the  ficticious  for  the  natural,  mistaking  a 
crowd  for  society,  finding  its  chief  pleasure  in  ridicule,  and 
exhausting  its  ingenuity  in  expedients  for  killing  time,  fashion  is 
among  the  last  influences  under  which  a  human  being  who 
respects  himself,  or  who  comprehends  the  great  end  of  life,  would 

0 

desire  to  be  placed.^ 


Hn 


■}|| 


:|ti 


i^3 


» 


a 


h 


1  Chalmors. 


1  Holland. 


«  Channing. 


Ml 


'i 

M 
III* 

■m 


'J 


t\ 


^', 


406 


MAN    AND    II 13    RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


497 


If  you  wish  to  know  what  hoUowness  and  lieartlcs-?ncss  are, 
you  must  seek  for  them  in  the  worhl  of  light,  ek-ant,  superficial 
ili^hion,  where  frivolity  has  turned  the  heart  into  a  rock-bed  of 
selfishness.  Say  what  men  will  of  the  heartlessness  of  trade,  it 
is  nothing  compared  with  the  heartlessneess  of  fashion.  Say 
what  they  will  of  the  atheism  of  science,  it  is  nothing  to  the 
atheism  of  that  round  of  pleasure  in  which  the  heart  lives;  dead 

while  it  lives.^ 

Dkess. I  suppose  one  might  as  well  advise  the  north-east 

wind  to  be  gentle  and  pleasant,  as  advise  young  men  as  to  the 
sort  of  <nrl  they  should  fall  in  love  with.  But  I  think  there  is 
nothing  more  significant  of  the  nature  of  a  girl  than  her  dress. 
You  may  be  sure  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  ^vorth  in  he  r  who 
keeps  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  prevailing  fashion, 
whatever  it  may  be,  without  at  the  same  time  incurring  the  risk  of 
appearing  singular.  This,  too,  not  from  its  being  a  proof  of  her 
beino-  modest  and  quiet,  but  because  it  gives  evidence  of  her  pos- 
sessing  an  art  which  is  of  signal  importance  in  insuring  domestic 
felicity.  It  is  the  art  of  making  the  best  of  herself: —Sc /aire 
valoir,  as  the  French,  in  their  delicate  way  of  expressing  things, 

would  describe  it. 

Most  modes  of  fashion,  even  when  carried  only  to  a  moderate 
and  not  to  an  extreme  extent,  are  pre-eminently  ugly  and  unbe- 
comino-.  It  is  a  hunch  here,  or  a  bunc!i  tlicr:^,  or  an  inflation  of 
this  garment,  or  a  skimping  of  that,  which  is  the  sign  of  supreme 
fashion  in  dress.  It  generally  sins  equally  against  beauty,  pro- 
priety, health,  and  becomingness.  The  girl  who  knows  how  to 
most  dexterously  avoid  the  evils  of  it,  without,  as  I  said  before, 
becoming  singular,  is  an  adroit  person,  who  will  know,  through- 
out life,  how  to  make  the  best  of  herself  in  every  circumstance 
and  under  all  kinds  of  difficulties.^ 


1  Robertson. 


'  Helps. 


i 


No  woman—or  man  either,  for  that  matter— can  afford  to  be 
absolutely  indifferent  to  dress.  The  obligation  laid  upon  our  sex 
to  make  home  by  seeing  to  it  that  food  is  well  cooked  and 
attractively  served,  and  rooms  clean,  comfortable,  and  pretty, 
extends  to  neatness  of  person  and  such  attention  to  attire  as 
shall  not  only  avoid  offending  the  eye,  but  please  it  and  gratify 
just  taste. 

This  may  be  denominated  the  yEsthetic  Morality  of  Dress. 
I  earnestly  commend  the  consideration  of  it  to  thoso  wives  and 
daughters  who  imagine— if  we  are  to  judge  by  their  practice- 
that  working-clothes  must  needs  be  slatternly;  the  women  who 
make  a  market  for  the  cheap  calico  wrappers  trimmed  with 
tawdry  strips  of  more  gayly-colored  chintz,  that  flap  against  the 
door-posts  of  low-priced  stores.  They  are  the  class  who  sit  down 
collarless  to  breakfast,  their  hair  in  erimping-pins,  their  feet  in 
ragged  gaiters,  or  slippers  down  at  the  heel.  It  is  hard  for  a 
woman  to  respect  herself  in  such  a  garb.  Vriu-thrr  she  respects 
it  or  not,  it  is  yet  more  difficult  for  her  husband  or  father  to 
respect  her.  However  busy  a  man  he  may  be,  he  would  rather 
wait  ten  minutes  longer  for  his  morning  meal  when  his  wife  or 
daughter  is  the  cook,  in  order  that  she  may  slip  on  a  decent 
dress,  with  a  line  of  white  at  the  throat— that  indispensable 
insignia  of  ladyhood.^ 

Declining  ladies,  especially  married  ladies,  are  more  given,  I 
think,  than  men,  to  neglect  their  personal  appearance,  when  they 
are  conscious  that  the  bloom  of  their  youth  is  gone.  I  do  not 
speak  of  state  occasions,  of  set  dinner-parties  and  full-dress  balls 
but  of  the  daily  meetings  of  domestic  life.  Xow,  however,  is  the 
time,  above  all  others,  when  the  ^vIfe  must  determine  to  remain 
the  pleasing  wife,  and  retain  her  John  Anderson's  affections  to 

the  last,  by  neatness,  taste,  and  appropriate  variety  of  dress. 
33 

1  Marion  Harland. 


H, 


i 
fi 


til 


.  ••. 


J.':] 

I 


i  '' 


498 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


499 


That  a  ladv  has  fost-growing  daughters,  strapping  sons,  and  a 
husband  hard  at  work  at  his  office  all  day  long,  is  no  reason  ^vl^y 
she  4»ould  ever  enter  the  family  circle  with  rumpled  hair,  soiled 
cap,  or  unfastened  gown.  The  prettiest  woman  in  the  world 
would  be  spoiled  by  such  sins  in  her  toilet.' 

I  believe  in  dress.     I  believe  that  it  is  the  duty  of  all  mcn- 
younc.  and  old-to  make  their  persons,  so  far  as  practicable  or 
possible,  agreeable  to  those  with  wlx.m  they  are  thrown  nUo  asso- 
ciation.    I  mean  by  this  that  they  shall  not  offend  by  singularity 
nor  by  slovenliness;    that  they  shall  "make  a  conscience"  of 
clean  boots  and  finger-nails,  frequently  change  their  l.nen,  and 
not  show  themselves  in  shirt-sleeves  if  they  can  help  it.     Let 
no  man  know  by  your  dress  what  your  business  is.     ^  on  dress 
your  i«rson,  not  your  trade.     You  are,  if  you  know  enough,  to 
mold  the  foshion  of  the  time  to  y<H.r  own  personal  pecuhar.t.es- 
to  make  it  vour  servant,  and  not  allow  it  to  be  your  master. 
Never  dress'in  extremes.     Let  there  always  be  a  hint  .n  your 
dress  that  you  know  the  style,  but,  for  the  best  of  reasons,  d,s- 
re..ard  its  more  extreme  demands.     The  best  possible  in.press.on 
that  you  can  make  by  your  dress  is  to  make  no  separate  impres- 
sion at  all ;  but  so  to  harmonize  its  material  and  shape  with  your 
personality,  that  It  becomes  tributary  in  the  general  effect,  and 
so  exelu.i'velv  tributary  that  people  can  not  tell  after  seeing  you 
.vhat  kind  of  clothes  you  wear.     They  will  only  remember  that 
you  look  well,  and  somehow  dress  becomingly. 

I  suppose  that  I  shall  be  met  here  with  a  protest  from 
employers,  and  a  kind  of  protest  from  the  employed.  Counsel 
todre'sswell  is  dangerous,  is  it?  But  everybody  now  dresses 
extravagantly;  and,  as  extravagant  dressing  is  usually  very  far 
from  .^ood  dressing,  I  think  that  the  danger  of  exciting  greater 
extravagance  is  very  sindl.     It  may  be  descending  into  pretty 

1  iioitsc/ioZd  Vi'ordz. 


small  particulars,  but  it  i.s  proper  to  say  that  some  men  can  dress 
better  on  fifty  dollars  a  year  than  others  can  on  one  hundred,  and 
for  reasons  which  it  is  mx  duty  to  disclose.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  doctrine  of  the  loafer  who  maintained  that ''  extremes 
justify  the  means,^'  illustrating  his  pro])osition  by  wearing  fault- 
less hat  and  boots  and  leaving  the  rest  of  his  person  in  rags;  but 
he  had  not  touched  the  real  philosophy  of  the  matter. 

There  is  on  every  man  what  may  be  called  a  dress-center— a 
point  from  which  the  rest  of  the  dress  should  be  developed  or  un- 
folded, A  faultless  cravat  or  necktie,  supporting  an  immaculate 
and  stylish  shirt-collar,  is,  perhaps,  as  good  a  'Mress-center"  as 
can  be  chosen  or  adopted.  Outside  of  this  there  should  not  be  a 
noticeable  feature  of  the  dress,  except  that  it  is  harmonious  and 
unobtrusive.  A  neck  always  well  dressed  will  atone  almost  for 
negligence  in  every  other  department  of  personal  drapery.^ 

You  must  dress  according  to  your  age,  your  pursuits,  your 
object  in  life.  You  must  dress  in  some  cases  according  to  your 
set.  In  youth  a  little  fancy  is  rather  expected,  but,  if  political 
life  be  your  object,  it  should  be  avoided,  at  least  after  one-and- 
twenty.  What  all  men  sliould  avoid  is  the  shabby  genteel.  Xo 
man  gets  over  it.     You  had  bettor  be  in  rags.^ 

It  IS  a  shame  to  any  woman  who  has  the  means  to  dress  well 
to  dress  meanly,  and  it  is  a  particular  shame  for  any  woman  to 
do  this  in  the  name  of  religion.  I  have  seen  women  who,  be- 
lieving the  fusliionable  devotion  to  dress  to  be  sinful,  as  it  doubt- 
less is,  go  to  that  extreme  in  plainness  of  attire  which,  if  it  prove 
anything  touching  the  power  that  governs  them,  proves  that  it 
is  a  power  which  is  at  war  with  man's  purest  instincts  and  most 
elevated  tastes.  I  say  it  is  a  shame  for  a  woman  to  dress  unat- 
tractively who  has  it  in  her  power  to  dress  well.  It  is  everv 
woman's  duty  to  make  herself  pleasant  and  attractive  by  such 


t 


% 


m 

'  ■  -I 

n 

j 


\\ 


'% 


I 


» Holland. 


2  Beaconsfield. 


600 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


raiment  and  ornament  as  shall  best  accord  with  the  style  of 
beauty  with  which  she  is  endowed.  The  beauty  of  woman's 
person  was  intended  to  be  a  source  of  pleasure — -the  fitting 
accompaniment  of  that  which  in  huma!iity  is  the  most  nearly 
allied  to  the  angelic.  Surely,  if  God  plants  flowers  upon 
a  clod;  they  may  rest  upon  a  woman's  bosom,  or  glorify  a 
woman's  hair! 

But  dress  is  a  subordinate  thing,  because  beauty  is  not  the 
essential  thing.  Beauty  is  very  desirable ;  it  is  a  very  great 
blessing;  it  is  a  misfortune  to  possess  an  unattractive  person ; 
but  there  are  multitudes  of  women  with  priceless  excellences  of 
heart  and  mind  who  are  not  beautiful.  Beauty,  so  far  as  it  is 
dependent  upon  form  and  color,  is  a  material  thing,  and  belongs 
to  the  grosser  nature.  Therefore  dress  is  a  subject  which  shoukl 
occupy  comparatively  few  of  the  thoughts  of  a  true  woman, 
whether  beautiful  or  not.     . 

There  is,  as  a  general  thing,  no  excuse  for  attire  which  is  not 
neat  and  orderly  at  any  time  in  the  day.  A  thoroughly  neat 
and  orderly  young  woman  is  presentable  at  any  hour,  whether 
she  be  in  the  kitchen  or  the  parlor ;  and  I  have  seen  specimens 
of  womanhood  that  were  as  attractive  in  their  kitchens,  with 
their  tidy  hair  and  their  nine-penny  calico,  as  in  their  parlors,  at 
a  later  hour,  robed  in  silk  and  busy  at  their  embroidery.  Mate- 
rials may  be  humble,  but  they  may  always  be  tastefully  made 
and  neatly  kept.  There  are  few  habits  that  a  young  woman  may 
acquire  which,  in  the  long  run,  Avill  tend  more  to  the  preserva- 
tion of  her  own  self-respect  than  that  of  thorough  tastefulness, 
appropriateness,  and  tidiness  of  dress,  and  certainly  very  few 
which  will  make  her  more  agreeable  to  others. 

So,  I  say,  dress  well  if  you  can  afford  it,  always  neatly,  never 
obtrusively,  and  always  with  a  modest  regard  to  rational  ideas 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


501 


of  propriety.  Scorn  the  idea  of  making  dress,  in  any  wav,  the 
great  object  of  life.  It  is  beneath  you.  A  woman  was  'made 
for  something  higher  than  a  convenient  figure  for  displaving 
dry  goods  and  the  possibilities  of  millinery  and  mantua-making!i 
Always  dress  yourselves  beautifully— not  finely,  unless  on 
occasion,  but  then  very  finely  and  beautifully,  too.  Also,  you 
are  to  dress  as  many  other  people  as  you  can ;  and  to  teach  them 
how  to  dress,  if  they  don't  know ;  and  to  consider  every  ill- 
dressed  woman  or  child  whom  you  see  anywhere  as  a  personal 
disgrace,  and  to  get  at  them  somehow,  until  everybody  is  as 
beautifully  dressed  as  birds.^ 

Gossip.— What  a  pity  there  is  not  a  tax  upon  words !     AYliat 
an  income  the  queen  would  get  from  it!      But,  alas!    talking 
pays  no  toll.     And,  if  lies  paid  double,  the  government  might 
pay  off  the  national  debt.     But  who  could  collect  the  money? 
Common  fame  is  a  common  liar.     Hearsay  is  half  lies.     A  tale 
never  loses  in  the  telling.     As  a  snow-ball  grows  by  rolling,  so 
does  a  story.      They  who  talk  much  lie  much.      If  men  said 
what  was  true,  what  a  peaceable  world  we  should  see  !     Silence 
seldom  makes  mischief,  but  talking  is  a  plague  to  the  parish. 
Silence  is  wisdom,  and,  by  this  rule,  wise  men  and  wise  women 
are  scarce.     Still   waters   are   the   deepest,  but  the   shallowest 
brooks  brawl  the  most;  this  shows  plentiful  fools  must  be.     An 
open  mouth  shows  an  empty  head.     If  the  chest  had  gold  or  sil- 
ver in  it,  it  would  not  always  stand  wide  open.     Talking  comes 
by  nature,  but  it  needs  a  good  deal  of  training  to  learn  to  be 
quiet;  yet  regard  for  truth  should  put  a  bit  into  every  honest 
man's  mouth,  and  a  bridle  upon  every  good  woman's  tongue. 
If  we  must  talk,  at  least  let  us  be  free  from  slander ;  let  us  not 
blister  our  tongues  with  backbiting.     Slander  may  be  sport  to 
tale-bearers,  but  it  is  death  to  those  whom  they  abuse.     AYe  can 


m 

■  t 
* 


i 

* . 

tr 

J 


•■  ■■ 


iM 


i'l 

J  ■  I 

;    i 


.141 


i .  ; 


' 


1  Holland. 


I    ■: 


2  Ruskin. 


i    ^: 


502 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


Mi 


comnJt  murtler  with  the  tougiie  as  well  as  with  the  hand.  .  .  . 
Let  us,  then,  be  careful  that  we  do  not  hurt  our  neighbor  in  so 
tjnder  a  point  as  his  character,  for  it  is  hard  to  get  dirt  oif  if  it 
L,  once  thrown  on  ;  and,  when  a  man  is  once  in  people's  bad 
books,  he  is  hardly  ever  quite  out  of  them.  If  we  would  be  sure 
not  to  speak  amiss,  it  might  be  as  well  to  speak  as  little  as  pos- 
sible;  for,  if  all  men's  sins  were  divided  into  two  bundles,  half 
of  them  would  be  sins  of  the  tongue.  ''  If  any  man  offend  not 
in  word,  the  same  is  a  perfect  man,  and  able  also  to  bridle  the 
whole  body."  .  .  .  Think  much,  but  say  little;  be  quick  at 
work,  and  slow  at  talk  ;  and,  above  all,  ask  the  great  Lord  to  set 
a  watch  over  your  lips.' 

The  moral  aspects  of  gossip  are  bad  enough.     It  is  a  constant 
infraction  of  the  Golden  Rule ;  it  is  full  of  all  uncharitableness. 
]S^>  man  or  woman  of  sensibility  likes  to  have  his  or  her  personal 
concerns  hawked  about  and  talked  about ;  and  those  who  engage 
in  this  work  are   meddlers  and  busybodies  who  are  not  only 
dohvr  damage  to  others— are  not  only  engaged  in  a  most  un- 
neighbor! v  office— but  are  inflicting  a  great  damage  upon  them- 
selves.     They  sow  the  seeds  of  anger  and  animosity  and  social 
discord.     Not  one  good  moral  result  ever  comes  out  of  it.     It 
is  a  thoroughly  immoral  practice,  and  what  is  worst  and  most 
hopeless  about  it  is,  that  those  who  are  engaged  in  it  do  not  see 
that  it  is  immoral  and  detestable.     To   go  into  a  man's  house, 
stealthily,  when  he  is  away  from  home,  and  overhaul  his  papers, 
or  into  a  lady's  wardrobe  and  examine  her  dresses,  would  be 
deemed  a  very  dishonorable  thing;  but  to  take  up  a  man's  or  a 
woman's  name,  and  smirch  it  all  over  with  gossip— to  handle 
the  private  affairs  of  a  neighbor  around  a  hundred  firesides— 
whv   this  is  nothing.     It   makes  conversation.     It  furnishes  a 
topic.     It  keeps  the  wheels  of  society  going. 


1  Spurgeon. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


503 


Unhappily  for  public  morals,  the  greed  for  personal  gossip  has 
been  seized  upon  as  the  basis  of  a  thrifty  traffic.  There  are 
newspapers  that  S])ring  to  meet  every  popular  demand.  We 
have  agricultural  papers,  scientific  ])apers,  literary  papers,  sport- 
ing papers,  religious  papers,  political  papers,  and  papers  devoted 
to  every  special  interest,  great  and  small,  that  can  be  named, 
and,  among  them,  papers  devoted  to  personal  gossip.  The  way 
in  which  the  names  of  private  men  and  women  are  handled  by 
caterers  for  the  public  press — the  way  in  which  their  movements 
and  affliirs  are  heralded  and  discussed  —  would  be  supremely 
disgusting  were  it  not  more  disgusting  that  these  pa})ers  find 
greedy  readers  enough  to  make  the  traffic  profitable.  The 
redeeming  thing  about  these  papers  is,  that  they  are  rarelv 
malicious  excepts  when  they  are  very  low  down — that  they 
season  their  doses  with  flattery.  They  find  their  reward  in 
ministering  to  personal  vanity. 

What  is  the  cure  for  gossip?  Simply,  culture.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  gossip  that  has  no  malignity  in  it.  Good-natured 
people  talk  about  their  neighbors  because,  and  only  because, 
they  have  nothing  else  to  talk  about.  As  we  write,  there  comes 
to  us  the  picture  of  a  family  of  young  ladies.  We  have  seen 
them  at  home,  we  have  met  them  in  galleries  of  art,  we  have 
caught  glimpses  of  them  going  from  a  bookstore,  or  a  library, 
with  a  fresh  volume  in  their  hands.  When  we  meet  them,  thev 
are  full  of  what  they  have  seen  and  read.  They  are  hrlmniing 
with  questions.  One  to[)ic  of  conversation  is  dropped  onlv  to 
give  place  to  another,  in  which  th(>y  are  interested.  We  have 
left  them,  after  a  delightful  hour,  stimulated  and  refreshed;  and 
during  the  whole  hour  not  a  neighbor's  garment  was  soiled  by 
so  much  as  a  touch.  They  had  something  to  talk  about.  They 
knew  something,  and  wanted  to  know  more.     Thev  could  listen 


.4 
■i 


■li 


II 


If 


■  j 


! 

\: 
if 


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)  .  %'. 
4 


% 


■■r 


504 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


505 


as  well  as  they  could  talk.  To  speak  freely  of  a  neighbor's 
doings  and  belongings  would  have  seemed  an  impertinence  to 
them,  and,  of  course,  an  impropriety.  They  had  no  temptation 
to  gossip,  because  the  doings  of  their  neighbors  formed  a  sub- 
ject very  mucli  less  interesting  than  those  which  grew  out  of 
their  knowledge  and  their  culture. 

And  this  tells  the  whole  story.  The  confirmed  gossip  is 
always  either  malicious  or  ignorant.  The  one  variety  needs  a 
change  of  a  heart  and  the  other  a  change  of  pasture.  Gossip  is 
always  a  personal  confession  either  of  malice  or  imbecility,  and 
the  young  should  not  only  shun  it,  but  by  the  most  thorough 
culture  relieve  themselves  from  all  temptation  to  indulge  in  it.* 

Dr.  Holland  has  told  us  that  "the  cure  for  gossip  is  culture." 
The  prescription  is  excellent — as  far  it  goes.  But  weeds  spring 
faster  and  flourish  more  rankly  in  a  plowed  and  enriched  field 
than  in  the  hard  soil  of  a  common.  It  was  into  the  swept  and 
garnished  house  that  the  seven  unclean  spirits  followed  their 
host.  To  the  culture — intellectual — that  sharpens  perceptive 
faculties  and  disposes  the  whole  mind  to  activity,  must  be  added 
worthy  and  regular  occupation,  and  just  moral  sense,  integrity 
of  purpose  and  speech,  and  Christian  charity  in  construction  of 
others'  actions  and  motives,  if  we  would  save  our  educated  young 
women  from  the  favorite  pastime  of  their  inferiors — gossiping. 
.  .  .  AVhere  is  the  first  false  step?  At  what  juncture  of 
the  girl's  experience  does  it  begin  to  become  pleasanter  to  be- 
lieve the  tale  which  casts  a  shadow  than  that  which  illumines, 
easier  to  credit  disparagement  of  an  acquaintance  than  to  receive 
gladly  a  narrative  w^hich  is  honorable  to  the  subject  and  to 
human  nature  ?     .     .     . 

I  should  stultify  myself  and  insult  your  good  sense  were  I  to 
intimate  that  unfavorable  criticism  of  acquaintances  and  com- 

1  Holland. 


ment  upon  conduct  is  always  unfriendly  and  ill-bred.     There  is 
a  radical  dissimilarity  between  fair  adverse  judgment  temper- 
ately stated  and  abuse  zestfully  uttered.    It  is  occasionally  a  duty 
to  speak  openly  of  faults  that  mar  some  characters  we  would 
fain  admire.     If  you  are  constrained  by  your  knowledge  of 
.these  to  withhold  esteem  or  shun  associations  approved  by  others, 
it  may  not  be  only  proper,  but  in  certain  circumstances  obliga- 
tory upon  you,  to  state  why  you  act  thus.     It  is  a  duty  to  shield 
yourself  from  the  imputation  of  causeless  prejudice  and  to  pro- 
tect others  from  the  risk  of  misplaced  confidence.     This,  how- 
ever—do not  forget ! — is  duty  and  disagreeable  ;  not  pastime  or 
pleasant.     ...     So  well  understood  is  this  principle,  that  the 
professional  scandal-monger  lards  her  piquant  dishes  with  pro- 
testations of   reluctance.      Even  those  who   listen   and  credit, 
smile  slyly  in  recognizing  preamble  and  peroration.     She  would 
not  be  unfair  for  a  hemisphere  nor  unkind  for  the  w^orld.     She 
calls  heaven  to  witness  to  the  purity  of  her  intentions,  angels 
and  men  to  "overhaul"  her  heart  and  "make  a  note"  of  the 
unfeigned  grief  with  which  she  industriously  sows  dragons'  teeth 
in  her  neighbor's  grounds.     She  would  not  act  as  unlicensed 
victualer  of  the  region,  hawking  "high"   meats  from  door  to 
door,  if  the  duty  were  not  laid  upon  her  by  fate  and  strapped 
upon  her  groaning  shoulders  by  conscience.* 

I  take  it  as  a  matter  not  to  be  disputed,  that  if  all  knew  what 
each  said  of  the  other,  there  would  not  be  four  friends  in  the 
world.  This  seems  proved  by  the  quarrels  and  disputes  caused 
by  the  disclosures  which  are  occasionally  made.^ 

I  will  not  say  it  is  not  Christian  to  make  beads  of  others' 
faults,  and  tell  them  over  every  day ;  I  say  it  is  infernal.  If 
you  want  to  know  how  the  Devil  feels,  you  do  know,  if  you  are 
such  an  one.^ 


1  Marion  Harland. 


2  Pascal. 


«  Beecher, 


r 

II 

I*  i 


-t  I 


: 


I; 


M 

'  11 

■  I 


iil 


506 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


Let  the  greatest  part  of  the  news  thou  hearest  be  the  least  part 
of  what  thou  believest,  lest  the  greatest  part  of  what  thou  be- 
lievest  be  the  least  part  of  what  is  true.^ 

CoQUETPwY  AND  FLIRTATION. — A  coqucttc  is  a  vouug  lady 
of  more  beauty  than  sense,  more  accomplishments  than  learning, 
more  charms  of  person  than  graces  of  mind,  more  admirers  than 
friends,  more  fools  than  wise  men  for  attendants.^ 

An  accomplished  coquette  excites  the  passions  of  others  in 
proportion  as  she  feels  none   herself.^ 

Girlish  attachments  and  girlish  ideas  of  men  are  the  silliest 
things  in  all  tlie  world.  If  you  do  not  believe  it,  ask  your 
mothers.  Ninety-nine  times  in  a  hundred  they  will  tell  you  that 
they  did  not  marry  the  boy  they  fancied,  before  they  had  a  right 
to  fancy  anybody.  If  you  dream  of  matrimony  for  amusement, 
and  for  the  sake  of  killing  time,  I  have  this  to  say,  that,  con- 
sidering the  kind  of  young  men  you  fancy,  you  can  do  quite  as 
well  by  hanging  a  hat  upon  a  hitching-post  and  worshiping  it 
through  your  chamber  window.  Besides,  it  is  during  this  period 
of  unsettled  notions  and  really  shifting  attachments  that  a  habit 
of  flirting  and  a  love  of  it  are  generated. 

I  suppose  that  coquetry,  in  its  legitimate  form,  is  among  a 
woman's  charms,  and  that  there  is  a  legitimate  sphere  for  its  em- 
ployment, for,  except  in  rare  natures,  it  is  a  natural  thing  with 
your  sex.  Nature  has  ordained  that  men  shall  prize  most  that 
which  shall  cost  an  eifort,  and  while  it  has  designed  that  you 
shall  at  some  time  give  your  heart  and  hand  to  a  worthy  man,  it 
has  also  provided  a  way  for  making  the  prize  he  seeks  an  appar- 
ently difficult  one  to  win.  It  is  a  simple  and  beautiful  provision 
for  enhancing  your  value  in  his  eyes,  so  as  to  make  a  difficult 
thing  of  that  which  you  know  to  be  unspeakably  easy.  If  you 
hold  yourselves  cheaply,  and  meet  all  advances  with  open  will- 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


507 


Quarles. 


Longfellow. 


3  Hazlitt. 


ingness  and  gladness,  the  natural  result  will  be  that  your  lover 
wdll  tire  of  you.  I  introduce  this  subject  here,  not  because  I  wish 
to,  but  because  I  am  compelled  to,  in  order  to  explain  what  I 
have  to  say  upon  the  habit  and  love  of  flirting. 

To  become  a  flirt  is  to  metamorphose  into  a  disgusting  pas- 
sion that  w4iich,  by  natural  constitution,  is  a  harmless  and  useful 
instinct.    This  instinct  of  coquetry,  which  makes  a  woman  a  thing 
to  be  won,  and  which,  I  suppose,  all  women  are  conscious  of  pos- 
sessing in  some  degree,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  cultivated  or  developed 
at  all.     It  should  be  left  to  itself,  unstimulated  and  uni^erverted, 
and  if,  in  the  formative  stage  of  your  womanhood,  initiating 
shallow  attachments  and  heartlessly  breaking  them,  or  seeking 
to  make  impressions  for  the  sake  of  securing  attentions  which 
are  repaid    by  insult  and  negligence,  you  do  violence  to  your 
nature,  you  make  of  yourself  a  woman   whom  your  own  sex 
despise,  and  whom  all  sensible  men,  who  do  not  mean  to  cheat 
you  with   insincerities  as  mean  as  yours,  are  afraid  of.     They 
will  not  love  and  they  will  not  trust  you.     This  instinct,  then, 
is  not  a  thing  to  be  harmlessly  played  with  ;  and  I  know  of  few 
more  unhappy  and  disgusting  sights  thau  a  girl  bringing  into 
her  womanhood    this    passion  —  harmful    alike   to    herself  and 
others.^ 

Your  true  flirt  plays  with  sparkles;  her  heart,  much  as 
there  is  of  it,  spends  itself  in  sparkles;  she  measures  it  to 
sparkle,  and  habit  grows  into  nature,  so  that  anon  it  can  only 
sparkle.     .     .     . 

Your  true  flirt  has  a  coarse-grained  soul ;  w^ell  modulated  and 
well  tutored,  but  there  is  no  fineness  in  it.  All  its  native  fine- 
ness is  made  coarse  by  coarse  efforts  of  the  will.  True  feeling  is 
a  rustic  vulgarity  the  flirt  does  not  tolerate;  she  counts  its 
healthiest  and  most  honest  manifestation  all  sentiment.     Yet  she 

1  Holland. 


'1^ 


ttti 


'    I 


1 

1 

1   'i 


■  t 


i  f  < 


i  .■ 


'  f 


Hi 

Ilii 


■■11 

ii 

H 


508 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


will  play  you  off  a  pretty  string  of  sentiment  which  she  has 
gathered  from  the  poets;  she  adjusts  it  prettily  as  a  Gubeliu 
weaver  adjusts  the  colors  in  his  tapis.  She  shades  it  off  delight- 
fully ;  there  are  no  bold  contrasts,  but  a  most  artistic  mellow 
of  nuances. 

She  smiles  like  a  wizard,  and  jingles  it  with  a  laugh,  such  as 
tolled  the  poor  home-bound  Ulysses  to  the  Circean  bower.  She 
has  a  cast  of  the  head,  apt  and  artful  as  the  most  dexterous  cast 
of  the  best  trout-killing  rod.  Her  words  sparkle,  and  flow 
hurriedly,  and  with  the  prettiest  doubleness  of  meaning.  Nat- 
uralness she  copies,  and  she  scorns.  She  accuses  herself  of  a 
single  expression  or  regard,  which  nature  prompts.  She  prides 
herself  on  her  schooling.  She  measures  her  wit  by  the  triumphs 
of  her  art;  she  chuckles  over  her  own  falsity  to  herself  And 
if  by  chance  her  soul — such  germ  as  is  left  of  it — betrays  her  into 
untoward  confidence,  she  condemns  herself,  as  if  she  had  com- 
mitted crime. 

She  is  always  gay,  because  she  has  no  depth  of  feeling  to  be 
stirred.  The  brook  that  runs  shallow  over  hard,  pebbly  bottom 
alwavs  rustles.  She  is  light-hearted,  because  her  heart  floats  in 
sparkles,  like  my  sea-coal  fire.  She  counts  on  marriage,  not  as 
the  great  absorbent  of  a  heartVlove,  and  life,  but  as  a  happy, 
feasible,  and  orderly  conventionality,  to  be  played  with,  and  kept 
at  distance,  and  finally  to  be  accepted  as  a  cover  for  the  faint  and 
tawdry  sparkles  of  an  old  and  cherished  heartlessness. 

She  will  not  pine  under  any  regrets,  because  she  has  no 
appreciation  of  any  loss;  she  will  not  chafe  at  indifference, 
because  it  is  her  art;  she  will  not  be  worried  with  jealousies, 
because  she  is  ignorant  of  love.  With  no  conception  of  the  soul 
in  its  strength  and  fullness,  she  sees  no  lack  of  its  demands.  A 
thrill  she  does  not  know,  a  passion  she  can  not  imagine ;  joy  is  a 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


509 


name;  grief  is  another;  and  Life,  Avith  its  crowding  scenes  of 
love  and  bitterness,  is  a  play  upon  the  stage.^ 

Flirtation  is  damnation.  When  I  see  at  the  ev^ening  hour  on 
Broadway,  New  York,  or  Fulton  Street,  Brooklyn,  as  gentlemen 
return  from  business,  a  group  of  young  women  with  a  conspicuous 
manner  and  giggle  that  is  intended  to  attract  attention  of  the 
masculine  passer-by,  a  horror  strikes  through  my  soul,  and  I  say 
I  wonder  if  the  parents  of  these  young  people  are  aware  of  this. 
The  most  of  those  who  make  everlasting  shipwreck  carry  that 
same  kind  of  sail.  The  pirates  of  death  attack  that  style  of 
craft.  I  wish  I  had  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  from  the 
Penobscot  to  the  Rio  Grande,  and  I  would  repeat,  flirtation  is 
damnation.^ 

Friendship. — In  young  minds,  there  is  commonly  a  strong 
propensity  to  particular  intimacies  and  friendships.  Youth, 
indeed,  is  the  season  when  friendships  are  sometimes  formed 
which  not  only  continue  through  succeeding  life,  but  which  goes 
to  the  last,  with  a  tenderness  unknown  to  the  connections  begun 
in  cooler  years.  The  propensity  therefore  is  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged; though  at  the  same  time  it  must  be  regulated  with 
much  circumspection  and  care.  Too  many  of  the  pretended 
friendships  of  youth  are  mere  combinations  in  pleasure.  They 
are  often  founded  on  capricious  likings;  suddenly  contracted,  and 
as  suddenly  dissolved.  Sometimes  they  are  the  effect  of  inter- 
ested complaisance  and  flattery  on  the  one  side,  and  of  credulous 
fondness  on  the  other.  Beware  of  such  rash  and  dangerous 
connections,  which  may  afterwards  load  you  with  dishonor. 
Remember,  that  by  the  character  of  those  whom  you  clioose  for 
your  friends,  your  own  is  likely  to  be  formed,  and  will  certainly 
be  judged  of  by  the  world.  Be  slow,  therefore,  and  cautious  in 
contracting  intimacy ;    but  when  a  virtuous  friendship  is  once 


'H 


ij 


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»  Ml 

■  ,tl 


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I 

I 
I 


i 

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11 


i"Ik  Marv-eL" 


» Talmage. 


I 


1 


.'11 


i}in 


510 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


established,  consider  it  as  a  sacred  engagement.  Expose  not 
yourselves  to  the  reproach  of  lightness  and  inconstancy,  which 
always  bespeak  either  a  trifling,  or  a  base  mind.  Reveal  none 
of  the  secrets  of  your  friend.  Be  faithful  to  his  interests. 
Forsake  him  not  in  danger.  Abhor  the  thought  of  acquiring 
any  advantage  by  his  prejudice  or  hurt.  There  is  a  friend  that 
loveth  at  all  times,  and  a  brother  that  is  horn  for  adversity.  Thine 
own  friend,  and  thy  father^ s  friend,  forsake  not} 

People  young  and  raw  and  soft-natured  think  it  an  easy  thing 
to  gain  love,  and  reckon  their  own  friendship  a  sure  price  of 
any  man's;  but  when  experience  shall  have  shown  them  the 
hardness  of  most  hearts,  the  hollowness  of  others,  and  the  base- 
ness and  ingratitude  of  almost  all,  they  will  then  find  that  a 
friend  is  the  gift  of  God,  and  that  He  only  who  made  hearts  can 
unite  them.^ 

Let  friendship  creep  gently  to  a  height :  if  it  rush  to  it,  it  may 
soon  run  itself  out  of  breath.^ 

The  friend  wlio  holds  up  before  me  the  mirror,  conceals  not 
my  smallest  faults,  warns  me  kindly,  reproves  me  affectionately 
when  I  have  not  performed  my  duty,  he  is  my  friend,  however 
little  he  may  appear  so.  Again,  if  a  man  flattering  praises  and 
lauds  me,  never  reproves  me,  overlooks  my  faults  and  for^nves 
them  before  I  have  repented,  he  is  my  enemy,  however  much  he 
may  appear  my  friend.^ 

There  are  two  elements  that  go  to  the  composition  of  friend- 
ship, each  so  sovereign  that  I  can  detect  no  superiority  in  either, 
no  reason  why  either  should  be  first  named.  One  is  Truth.  A 
friend  is  a  person  with  whom  I  may  be  sincere.  Before  him  I 
may  think  aloud.  I  am  arrived  at  last  in  the  presence  of  a  man 
so  real  and  equal  that  I  may  drop  even  those  undermost  gar- 
ments of  dissimulation,   courtesy,  and  second  thought,   which 


A 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


511 


1  Blair. 


2  South. 


3  Fuller. 


*  Herder. 


men  never  put  off,  and  may  deal  with  him  with  the  simplicity 
and  wholeness  with  which  one  chemical  atom  meets  another. 
Sincerity  is  the  luxury  allowed,  like  diadems  and  authority,  only 
to  the  highest  rank,  that  being  permitted  to  speak  truth,  as 
having  none  above  it  to  court  or  conform  unto.  Every  man 
alone  is  sincere;  at  the  entrance  of  a  second  person,  hypocrisy 
begins.     .     .     . 

The  other  element  of  friendship  is  Tenderness.  AVe  are  holden 
to  men  by  every  sort  oi*  tie— by  blood,  by  pride,  by  fear,  by 
hope,  by  lucre,  by  lust,  by  hate,  by  admiration,  by  every  circum- 
stance and  badge  and  trifle— but  we  can  scarce  believe  that  so 
much  character  can  subsist  in  another  as  to  draw  us  by  love. 
Can  another  be  so  blessed,  and  we  so  pure,  that  we  can  offer  him 
tenderness  ?  When  a  man  becomes  dear  to  me,  I  have  touched 
the  goal  of  fortune.     .     .     . 

Only  be  admonished  by  what  you  already  see,  not  to  strike 
leagues  of  friendship  with  cheap  j^ersons,  where  no  friendship 
can  be.  Our  impatience  betrays  us  into  rash  and  foolish  alli- 
ances which  no  God  attends.^ 

Make  a  point  of  having  friends  amongst  your  elders.  Friend- 
ship between  those  of  the  same  age  is  sweeter,  but  friendship 
Avith  elders  is  more  useful,  or,  rather,  they  supplement  each 
other.  One  is  the  wine  of  life ;  the  other  is  its  food.  The  latter 
balances  life,  and  brings  the  good  of  all  periods  down  into  one. 
It  is  one  of  the  divinest  features  of  human  life  that  in  this  way 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  solitary  3  outh  or  solitary  age.  Youth 
may  get  the  value,  if  not  the  reality,  of  the  wisdom  of  age,  and 
age  keep  forever  young.  Theology  and  poetry  assert  eternal 
youth  ;  ifc  is  neither  a  dogma  of  one,  nor  a  dream  of  the  other, 
but  a  logical  realization  of  human  sympathy  and  love.  There  is 
nothing  more  detestable  in  American  society  than  the  drawing 

1  Emerson. 


fi' 


\-: 


i 

■J  '! 

i 


Hi 


■11 


'i 


'1 


a 


512 


MAN   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


off  of  young  people  into  a  society  of  their  own — young  people's 
parties  and  cliildren's  parties  I  There  is  not  only  a  strong  flavor 
of  vulgarity  in  it,  but  positiv^e  loss  on  both  sides. 

Avoid  having  many  confidants.  It  is  weak;  it  breeds  trouble. 
Secrets  arc  not  in  themselves  good  things;  but  when  of  necessity 
they  exist,  their  nature  should  be  respected.  Having  them,  it  is 
well  to  keep  them.  Avoid  also  the  effusive  habit.  It  is  pitiable 
to  see  a  man  pouring  himself  out  into  every  listening  ear — mind 
and  heart  and  body  inverted,  the  girdle  of  selfhood  thrown 
aside,  and  all  the  secret  ways  of  the  being  laid  open  for  the  com- 
mon foot.  It  is  a  violation  of  identity,  a  squandering  of  per- 
sonality. The  secretive  temper  is  to  be  criticised,  but  it  is  not 
so  fatal  to  character  and  dignity  as  its  opposite.  There  may  be 
times  when  one  must  speak  all  one's  thought  and  emotion — self 
is  too  small  to  hold  the  joy  or  grief;  but,  having  done  it,  get 
back  into  your  citadel  of  selfhood.  AVe  never  quite  respect  the 
man  who  tells  us  everything.  Take  your  friends  into  your  heart, 
but  not  into  your  heart  of  hearts ;  reserve  that  for  vourself  and 
duty.^ 

You  will  all  find,  if  you  haven't  found  it  out  already,  that  a 
time  comes  in  every  human  friendship  when  you  must  go  down 
into  the  depths  of  yourself,  and  lay  bare  what  is  there  to  your 
friend,  and  wait  in  fear  for  his  answer.  A  few  moments  may  do 
it,  and  it  may  be  that  you  never  do  it  but  once ;  but  done  it 
must  be,  if  the  friendship  is  to  be  worth  the  name.  You  must 
find  out  what  is  there,  at  the  very  root  and  bottom  of  one 
another's  hearts ;  and  if  you  are  at  one  there,  nothing  on  earth 
can,  or  at  least  ought,  to  sunder  you.^ 

A  friend's  influence  upon  our  character  must  always  be  con- 
siderable. It  was  said  by  those  best  acquainted  with  the  late 
John  Sterling  that  it  was  impossible  to  come  into  contact  with 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


513 


1  :iunser. 


B  Hughes. 


him  and  not  in  some  measure  be  ennobled  and  lifted  up  into  a 
loftier  region  of  aim  and  object.  Hence  the  necessity  of  guard- 
ing, in  our  choice  of  friends,  against  natures  of  a  lower  order 
thftn  our  own.  Unless  our  will  be  strong,  our  purpose  high,  our 
own  character  well  balanced,  they  will  drag  us  down  to  their 
base  level.  But,  from  the  wise  words  or  spotless  example  of  a 
true  friend  and  fit  companion,  our  minds  will  often  receive  an 
impulse  to  exertion  and  an  incentive  to  elevated,  earnest,  and 
devout  thought.  On  the  other  hand,  there  must  be  some- 
thing of  an  equality  in  friendship.  AYe  must  give  as  well  as 
receive.^ 

Some  men  think  women  unfitted  for  friendship.  Feminine 
hearts  are  so  complex,  changeable,  elusive,  that  the  belief  has 
had  great  currency  among  themselves,  as  well  as  with  their 
critics.  In  comparing  the  two  sexes  in  this  particular,  many 
persons  commit  a  gross  error  by  overlooking  the  fact  that  there 
are  all  kinds  and  degrees  of  feminine  characters,  not  less  than 
of  masculine.  When  Heine  says,  "  I  will  not  affirm  that  women 
have  no  character;  rather  the}-  have  a  new  one  evcrv  dav,"  he 
means  precisely  what  Pope  meant  by  the  famous  couplet  in  his 
poem  on  the  Characters  of  Women  : 

Nothing  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall, 
"  Most  women  have  no  characters  at  all." 

This  want  of  character  is  held  by  many  thoughtful  men  for 

what  Coleridge  asserted  it  to  be — the  perfection  of  a  woman ;  a^ 

tastelessness  proves  the  purity  of  w^ater,  transparency  that  of 

glass.     .     .     .     The  great  reason  why  the  friendships  of  women 

are  not  more  frequent  and  prominent  than  they  are  is  that  the 

proper  destiny  of  woman  calls  her  to  love ;  and  this  sentiment, 

in  its  fullness,  is  usually  too  absorbing  to  leave  room  and  force 
34 

^  Adams. 


i 


i! 


I  It 


li 


li 


i  1 


ii! 
it: 


i  1: 


i. 


■    : 


i 

1    5 


N, 


5 

i 

; 

1' 

■ 

!. 

k  ^ 

i 

" 

i  . 

i 

i  * 

i' 

i  i- 


:^|i. 
.^^^? 


5U 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


for  conspicuous  friendships.     With  men  the  other  sentiments  are 
not  so  much  suspended  or  engulfed  by  conjugal  and  parental 
love.     ''The  men/'  La  Bruydre   says,  "are  the   occasion  that- 
women  do  not  love  each  other."     With  the  one-sided  exaggera- 
,  tion  incident  to  most  aphorisms,   this  is  true.     Husband    and 
children  occupy  the  wife  and  mother;  and  marriage  is  often  the 
grave  of  feminine  friendships.     .     .     .     The  weakness  of  women 
is  an  exaggerated  attention  to  trifles.     The  great  condition  of 
steady  friendship  is  community  of  plans  and  ends  in  the  parties. 
This  is  much  wanting  in  women,  who  think  cliicfly  of  persons, 
little  of  laborious  aims.     Two  girls,  who  live  in  a  multitude  of 
evaporating  impulses  and  dreams— it  were  as  easy  to  yoke  a 
couple  of  humming-birds,  and  make  them  draw.     Because  the 
polarity  of  a  grand,  fixed  purpose  is  absent  from  it,  the  mind  of 
many  a  woman  is  a  heap  of  petty  antipathies;  and,  where  the 
likings  are  fickle,  the  dislikings  are  pretty  sure  to  be  tenacious. 
A  keen  student  of  human  nature  has  remarked  that  many  w^omcn 
"spend  force  enough  in  trivial  observations  on  dress  and  man- 
ners to  form   a  javelin  to  pierce  quite  through   a   character." 
Women's  eves  are  armed  with  microscopes  to  see  all  the  little 
defects  and  dissimilarities  which  can   irritate   and   injure   their 
friendships.     Hence  there  are  so  many  feminine  friends  easily 
provoked  to  mutual  criticisms  and  recriminations.     ...     It 
is  true  that  women  are  more  imperiously  called  to  love  than  men 
are ;  are  more  likely  to  be  absorbed  by  this  master  passion,  and 
thus  are  more  exposed  to  jealousy  of  each  other.     It  is  true  that, 
owino-  to  their  greater  sensitiveness,  keener  subjection  to  the  fas- 
tidious  swav  of  taste,  women  are  more  apt  than  men  to  fall  out, 
being  more  easily  disturbed  and  estranged  by  trifles ;  but  this 
relative    subjection    to    trifles    is  chiefly   a  consequence   of   the 
exclusion  of  woman  hitherto  from  the  grandest  fields  of  educa- 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


515 


tion,  the  noblest  subjects  of  interest  and  action.  It  is  true  that 
the  attachments  of  women,  on  account  of  the  greater  privacy  of 
their  lives,  are  le.^s  conspicuous  than  those  of  men,  less  fre- 
quently obtain  historic  or  literary  mention,  and  therefore  seem 
to  be  rarer.  But  it  is  not  true,  either  that  women  are  incapable 
of  enthusiastic  and  steadfast  friendships  for  each  other,  or  that 
such  friendshijis  are  uncommon.  If  women  are  more  critical 
and  severe  toward  their  own  sex  than  men  are,  it  is  chiefly 
because  they  can  not,  like  men,  be  indifferent  to  each  other; 
they  must  positively  feel  either  sympathy  or  aversion.^ 

School-girl  friendshij^s  are  a  proverb  in  all  mouths.  They 
form  one  of  the  largest  classes  of  those  human  attachments 
whose  idealizing  power  and  sympathetic  interfusions  glorify  the 
world  and  sweeten  existence.  AVith  what  quick  trust  and  ardor, 
what  eager  relish,  these  susceptible  creatures,  before  whom  heav- 
enly illusions  float,  surrender  themselves  to  each  other,  taste  all 
the  raptures  of  confidential  conversation,  lift  veil  after  veil  till 
every  secret  is  bare,  and,  hand  in  hand,  with  glowing  feet,  tread 
the  paths  of  paradise !  Perhaps  a  more  impassioned  portrayal 
of  this  kind  of  union  is  not  to  be  found  in  literature  than  the 
picture  in  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  *' which  Shakespeare 
makes  Helena  hold  before  Hermia  when  the  death  of  their  love 
is  threatened  by  the  appearance  of  Lysander  and  Demetrius : 

Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, 

The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 

When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 

For  parting  us— O!  is  all  forgot? 

All  school-days,  friendship,  childhood,  innocence? 

We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods. 

Have  with  our  neelds  created  both  one  flower, 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion, 

>  Alger. 


51 

>  I 

S  -I 


i 


f 

i 
i  ; 


\v 


i  t 


11 


I, 


■ 


f 


51G  MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 

Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key, 

As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds 

Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together, 

Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted. 

But  yet  an  union  in  partition, 

Two  lovely  berries  molded  on  one  stem : 

So  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart; 

Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry, 

Due  but  to  one  and  crowned  with  one  crest. 

And  will  you  rend  our  ancient  love  asunder, 

To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend? 

Romantically  warm  and  generous  as  the  friendships  of  school- 
boys are,  those  of  school-girls  are   much  more  so.     They  are 
more  purposed  and  absorbing,  more  sedulously  cultivated  and 
consciously  Important.     School-girls  often  have  their  distinctly 
defined  and  well-understood  degrees  of  intimacy— their   first, 
their  second,  their  third,  friend.     Thus  a  thousand  little  dramas 
arc  daily  played,  full  of  delights  and  woes,  of  which  outsiders, 
who  have  no  kev  to  them,  never  so  much  as  dream.     Probably 
no  chapter  of  sentiment  in  modern  fashionable  life  Is  so  intense 
and  rich  as  that  which  covers  the  experience  of  budding  maidens 
at  school.      In  their   mental  caresses,  spiritual   nuptials,  their 
thoughts  kiss  each  other,  and  more  than  all  the  blessedness  the 
world  will  ever  give  them  is  foreshadowed.     They  have  not  yet 
reached  the  age  for  a  public  record  or  confession  of  their  pangs 
and  raptures  ;  so  these  dramas  are  for  the  most  part  only  guessed 
at.     But  keener  agonies,  more  delicious  passages,  are  nowhere 
else  known  than  in  the  bosoms  of  innocent  school-girls,  in  the 
lacerations  or  fruitions  of  their  first  consciously  given  affections. 
A  startling  Illustration  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  writer 
jr^;t  as  he  is  penning  these  words.     Two  girls,  about  sixteen 
years  old,  attending  a  private  school  together.  In  one  of  t!ie 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


517 


chief  cities  of  the  United  States,  formed  a  strong  attachment  to 
each  other,  and  were  almost  Inseparable.  The  father  of  one  of 
the  girls,  for  some  reason,  had  a  dislike  for  the  other,  and  for- 
bade his  daughter  to  associate  with  her.  The  two  friends 
preferred  death  to  separation.  They  took  laudanum,  and  were 
found  dead  in  each  other's  arms.  What  element  of  romance  or 
tragedy  ever  known,  is  not  every  day  experienced,  all  about  us, 
under  the  thin  disguise  of  commonplace? 

Xo  doubt  there  is  often  something  a  little  grotesque  or  laucrh- 
able  in  these  youthful  relations.  An  anecdote  will  illustrate  it, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  convey  the  corrective  moral.  There  were 
a  couple  of  school-girl  friends,  each  of  whom  loved  to  do  and 
experience  whatever  the  other  did  or  experienced.  One  of  them 
accidentally  set  fire  to  the  window-curtains  in  her  chamber,  and 
the  house  came  near  being  burned  down.  She  wrote  word  to 
her  friend  of  the  dangerous  accident.  The  other  at  once  pro- 
ceeded carefully  to  set  fire  to  the  curtains  in  her  chamber,  so  as 
to  be  just  like  her  friend  in  everything.  One  may  well  reprove, 
with  a  complacent  smile  of  superiority,  the  folly  of  the  act ;  but 
the  sentiment  underneath  should  never  be  ridiculed. 

A  harrowing  instance  of  the  suffering  consequent  on  the  over- 
strung feelings  of  girls  is  furnished  by  Margaret  Fuller  in  the 
story  of  "  Mariana,''  a  vivid  autobiographic  leaf  inserted  in  her 
''Summer  on  the  Lakes."  Much  precious  wisdom  is  learned, 
many  cruel  scars  are  received,  in  these  sincere,  though  often 
fickle,  connections — these  inebriating  preludes  to  the  sober  strain 
of  existence.  There  is  a  touch  of  sadness  in  the  thought  that 
the  earliest  friendship  of  youth  must  so  frequently  fade  and 
cease.  But  there  is  comfort  for  that  sadness  in  the  knowledge 
that  the  fair  flowers  of  April  are  but  precursors  of  those  which 
June  shall  fill  wuth  the  richer  fragrance  of  a  more  royal  fire. 


!    M 


\ 


."I 
if  :l 

'1^ 


Ml 


>li 


i? 

p 

i- 

Mi 


.  ! 


!l 


I 


I! 


518  MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 

Oft  first  love  must  perish 
Like  the  poor  snow-drop,  boyish  love  of  spring, 
Born  pale  to  die,  and  strew  the  path  of  triumph 
Before  the  imperial  glowing  of  the  rose, 
Whose  passion  conquers  all.^ 

Our  friends  interpret  the  world  and  ourselves  to  us,  if  we  take 
them  tenderly  and  truly ;  nor  need  we  but  love  them  devotedly 
to  become  members  of  an  immortal  fraternity,  superior  to  acci- 
dent or  change. 

Life's  noblest  aim,  its  happiest  end. 
By  love  to  charm  and  chain  a  friend.^ 

'  O  friend,  my  bosom  said, 

Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 

Through  thee  the  rose  is  red. 

All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form, 

And  look  beyond  the  earth. 

The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 

A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 

Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 

To  master  my  despair; 

The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 

Are  through  thy  friendship  fair.'' 

Distribution  and  Caste — Aspiration  is  a  universal  instinct. 
Vines  ever  strive  to  lay  hold  of  what  will  help  them  to  climb. 
Forest  oaks  vie  with  each  other  whicli  shall  ascend  highest  into 
the  light  and  air.  The  mineral  aspires  toward  the  vegetable,  the 
vegetable  toward  the  animal  kingdom.  From  zoophyte  to  man 
each  type  is,  at  its  best,  a  ^^  mute  prophecy ''  of  the  one  above  it. 
Upward,  upward,  is  an  innate  impulse  of  whatever  lives.  All 
being  struggles  to  ascend,  thereby  to  better  itself,  for  every 
mounted  degree  is  a  gain  of  freedom,  and  freedom,  the  highest 


1  Ibid. 


2  Alcott. 


8  Emerson. 


SOCIAL    ASPECTS. 


519 


aim  of  life,  is  the  gauge  of  advancement.  The  tree  is  freer  than 
the  rock,  and  the  bird  that  builds  in  its  boughs  is  freer  than  the 
tree,  and  man  is  freer  than  any  other  animal,  and  his  freedom  is 
in  precise  proportion  to  the  degree  that  the  animal  in  him  is  sub- 
ordinated to  the  human  ;  and  among  individual  men,  as  among 
nations,  elevation,  relative  and  absolute,  is  in  the  ratio  of  free- 
dom— the  freest  man  approximating,  while  yet  on  the  earth,  to 
the  emancipated  condition  of  the  angels.     .     .     . 

History  teaches  that  artificial  nominal  aristocracies  run  to  des- 
potism or  uphold  it;  and  that  whenever  a  state  has  thriven, 
under  whatever  form,  monarchical,  oligarchical,  or  republican, 
it  has  thriven  through  the  agency  of  genuine  aristocracy — that 
is,  through  having  its  best  men  at  the  political  helm. 

In  the  social  sphere,  aspiration  is  still  more  lively  and  pertina- 
cious.    Here  refinement  furnishes  the  wdngs  for  ascent.     In  the 
long  run,  those  individuals  and  breeds  most  open  to  impressions 
of  the  beautiful,  and  thence  most  capable  of  culture,  form  the 
nucleus  and  are  the  stamina  of  social  superiorities.     From  this 
class  (when  social  conditions  hava  some  freedom  of  play)  accre- 
tions are  ever  a-making  to  supply  the  losses  incurred  by  forfeit- 
ure of  inherited  social  position — forfeiture  through  lack  of  sensi- 
bilities to  value  and  retain  a  polish,  throu;;'h  lack  of  manlv  bot- 
tom  to  maintain  a  gentlemanly  conduct  and  carria<'-e,  of  delicacv 
to  appreciate  beauties  of  bearing,  subtleties  of  demeanor.     As  in 
the  political,  so  in  the  social  sphere,  there  are  assumptions,  pre- 
tentions,  audacious    usurpations,  and   especially  there    are   the 
oligarchic  impudences  of  fashion  to  mar  and  weaken  ;  but  what 
is  real  and  pure,  what  is  truly  aristocratic,  what  is  the  best 
socially,  is  a  projection  beyond  the  limited  self  into  a  sphere  of 
aesthetic  association.     '^Good  society,'^  if  it  be  not  an  arrogated 
name,   not   vulgarized   by  ostentatious  ambitions,   but   if  it  be 


i 


If 


'  \ 


f  : 


!  I 


li 


f 
H 

i!i 
11 


'-  'I 


H 


:  !' 


F 


■|t:i 


ill 


520 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


essentially  good,  is,  like  art,  an  issue  out  of  the  finer  sensibilities. 
It  is  the  flowering  of  the  social  tree,  not  a  mere  fragile  orna- 
ment on  the  top,  and  gracefully  embodies  the  essence  of  that 
which  it  surmounts,  carrying  in  its  folds  the  seed  for  repro- 
duction. 

In  an  advanced  civilization,  the  desire  for  social  preferment 
vibrates  through  the  whole  frame  of  a  people.  The  late  Dr. 
Bowditch,  the  eminent  mathematician,  used  to  tell  a  story  of  a 
serving-maid  who  related  how  her  engagement  had  been  broken 
off  through  objections  made  by  the  friends  of  her  lover  to  the 
position  of  herself  and  her  family.  *' Why,  Lucy,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, ^'^  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  an  aristocracy  in  your  class." 
"  Aristocracy  ! "  rejoined  Lucy,  "  we  have  more  down  there  than 
you  have  up  here."  The  masses,  it  has  been  said,  have  the  sense 
of  the  ideal.  Had  they  it  not,  there  would  be  no  great  poets, 
for  these  are  a  subtle  distillation  out  of  the  juices  that  give  life 
and  character  to  the  mind  of  a  people.  The  aristocracy  "  up 
here"  owes  much  of  its  quality  to  the  quality  of  the  aristocracy 
"down  there."  ^ 

Who  shall  be  vicar  of  Bowden  and  who  shall  carry  the  dirt 
out — who  shall  paint  and  v/ho  shall  grind  the  colors — are  ques- 
tions which,  in  various  forms,  have  agitated  the  world  since 
human  society  existed.  Dissatisfaction  with  position  and  con- 
dition is  well-nigh  universal.  Every  man  walks  with  his  eyes 
and  wishes  upward — some  moved  by  aspiration  for  a  nobler 
good,  others  by  ambition  for  a  higher  place ;  some  by  emulation 
of  a  worthy  example,  others  by  discontent  with  the  allotments  of 
Providence.  The  infant  does  not  forget  to  climb  when  he  learns 
to  walk,  nor  is  the  man  less  a  climber  than  the  boy.  Every- 
thing is  towering,  or  climbing,  or  reaching,  or  looking  upward. 
.     .     .     Discontent  may  be  a  very  good  thing  or  a  very  bad 

J  Calvert 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


521 


thing.  There  is  a  discontent  which  is  divine — which  has  its 
birth  in  the  highest  and  purest  inspirations  that  visit  and  stir  the 
soul.  All  this  discontent  which  grovys  from  dissatisfaction  with 
present  attainment,  or  springs  from  a  desire  for  higher  useful- 
ness, or  has  its  birth  in  motives  that  impel  to  the  worthy  achieve- 
ment of  an  honorable  name  and  an  honorable  place,  is  a  thing  to 
be  visited  by  blessings  and  benisons.  Discontent  which  comes 
from  below — which  comes  from  a  soul  disgusted  with  its  lot — a 
soul  faithless  in  God,  and  out  of  harmony  with  the  arrangements 
and  the  operations  of  Providence,  is  an  evil  thing — only  evil — 
and  that  continually.  One  holds  the  principle  of  love ;  the  other 
of  malice.  One  is  attracted  from  above  :  the  other  is  insticrated 
from  below.     .     .     . 

It  docs  not  suffice  to  tell  discontented  people  that  every  man 
has  his  place,  and  will  find  his  highest  account  in  seeking  to  fill 
it,  and  to  fill  it  well.  What  particularly  troubles  them  is,  that 
they  were  made  for  so  low  a  place.  They  really  call  God^s  wis- 
dom and  benevolence  in  question  for  assigning  to  them  subordi- 
nate offices  in  operating  the  machinery  of  society.  A  man  finds 
himself  distinguished  by  clumsy  hands  and  broad  shoulders,  with 
a  hod  on  his  back,  and  complains  that  he  was  not  made  for  a 
bricklayer;  and  the  bricklayer  wishes  he  had  the  ease  and  the 
honor  of  the  architect,  and  wonders  why  his  power  of  achieve- 
ment is  so  closely  circumscribed.  The  coachman  rubs  down  his 
horses  and  marvels  that  he  was  not  born  to  their  ownership,  and 
that  the  owner  was  not  born  to  drive  for  him.  So  people  quar- 
rel with  their  position  the  world  over.     .     .     . 

There  are  steps  to  be  climbed  in  life,  but  we  can  only  climb 
them  worthily  by  becoming  fit  for  the  ascent.  It  is  only  after 
becoming  prepared  for  important  j)laces,  through  the  education 
involved  in  the  intelligent  and  faithful  discharge  of  the  duties 


1 1\ 

f 


1  i 


if,! 

!  f  I 
I  i 

*    I 

Hi 


!  ; 


■ 


^j 


522 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


of  the  place  in  Avliicli  wg  find  ourselves,  that  It  is  best,  or  even 
proper,  that  we  be  advanced.     It*  is   not  those  who   pine   and 
whine,  and  quarrel  with  their  lot,  who  are  apt  to  change  it  for 
one  which  the  world  calls  better.     Aspiration,  worthy  ambition, 
desire  for  higher  good  for  good  ends — all  these  indicate  a  soul 
that  recognizes  the  beckoning  hand  of  the   Good   Father  who 
would  call  us  homeward  toward  himself— all  these  are  the  ground 
and  justification  of  a   Christian  discontent;  but  a  murmuring, 
questioning,    fault-finding    spirit    has    direct    and    sympathetic 
alliance  with  nothing  but  the  infernal.     So  while  God  gives  you 
and  me  the  privilege  of  being  as  happy  as  any  other  man,  and 
makes  us  responsible  f  )r  nothing  more  than  he  gives  us,  let  us 
be  contented,  and, 

"Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait."  ^ 

I  have  no  idea  that  while  human  society  exists  there  will  fail 
to  exist  an  aristocratic  element,  for  so  long  as  human  society 
exists  there  will  exist  a  popular  ideal  of  a  chief  good,  the 
achievement  of  that  good  by  a  fortunate  few,  and  the  association 
of  that  fortunate  fe\v,  by  natural  affinity  and  corresponding  posi- 
tion. If  this  class  exists,  other  classes  will  exist,  receding,  by 
grades  more  or  less  distinctly  defined,  to  the  lowest  figure  of  the 
scale— all  measurably  regulated  by  this  idea  of  the  chief  good 
and  the  degree  of  its  attainment ;  measurably,  I  say,  for  there  are 
subordinate  standards  of  respectability,  as  well  as  affinities  of 
natural  temperament  and  business  pursuit,  that  come  in  as  modi- 
fvin<'-  influences.  So  I  sav  that  classes  exist  in  society  by  a  law 
as  immutable  as  any  law.  They  always  have  existed,  and  they 
alwavs  will  exist — their  character  determined  by  the  character 
and  aims  of  the  people,  and  their  relations  regulated  by  the  spirit 

1  Holland. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


523 


of  the  people.  .  .  .  There  is  not,  and  there  can  never  be, 
social  enjoyment  without  social  sympathy.  In  all  healthfully 
organized  social  life  there  must  be  correspondence  of  position, 
education,  of  moral  sentiment,  and  of  habits  of  thought  and  life — 
a  correspondence  with  limits  of  variation  which  every  class  tacitly 
acknowledges.  This  sympathy  is  born  of  facts,  and  not  of  will. 
A  man  sees  a  circle  with  which  he  has  had  no  association ;  and, 
as  he  deems  its  entrance  desirable,  he  accomplishes  his  desire, 
only  to  find  himself  a  discordant  element;  and,  consequently,  an 
unhappy  one.  In  short,  there  is  a  class  with  which  each  man 
has  more  sympathy  than  with  any  other  class — a  class  in  which 
he  finds  himself  the  happiest  and  the  most  at  home.  Therefore 
he  belongs  in  this  class,  socially;  and  he  Avill  go  above  it,  if 
there  be  anything  above  it,  and  below  it,  if  there  be  anything 
below  it,  only  to  make  himself,  and  those  with  whom  he  asso- 
ciates, uncomfortable. 

I  have  frequently  noticed  the  operation  of  this  l:iw  in  a  large 
circle  of  women  met  to  prosecute  an  object  of  benevolence,  as  in 
the  sewing  circles  connected  with  the  various  religious  organiza- 
tions. They  meet  for  a  common  object.  They  all  have  respect 
for  each  other,  and  a  pleasant  word  for  each  other.  There  are' 
110  jealousies  and  no  rivalries.  They  pass  their  afternoon  and 
evening  happily,  and  separate  with  mutual  good  feeling;  yet  one 
who  knows  them  all  sees  the  secret  of  their  concord,  in  the  way 
in  which  they  associate.  Never,  unless  a  directly  opposing 
design,  instituted  for  a  purpose,  interfere,  do  they  mingle  indis- 
criminately. The  rooms  where  they  meet,  and  even  the  corners 
of  the  rooms,  are  sd  many  nuclei  of  crystallization,  around  which 
sympathetic  social  elements  arrange  themselves  for  communion 
and  happiness.  They  follow  the  general  law  inside  of  their 
organization,  just  as  naturally  as  they  do  out  of  it.     Like  talks 


lU 


i, 


til 


s  - 


I  i 


m 


M 


il 


I: 


i 


624 


MAN    AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


best  with  like,  lauglis  best  with  like,  works  best  with  like,  and 
enjoys  best  with  like;  and  it  can  not  help  it.  Therefore,  let  like 
come  together  with  like  everywhere,  nor  seek  to  prevent  it,  for 
social  position,  nnder  the  general  law,  elevates  no  one  and 
depresses  no  one.  It  is  simply  a  classification  of  individualities, 
according  to  conditions  and  sympathies  ^\hich  exist  independent 
of  class,  and  which  would  exist  all  the  same  w^ere  they  not 
brought  into  association.^ 

Capital  and  Labor. — The  laborer  is  Avorthv  of  his  hire;  he 
who  withholds  that  proper  hire  from  him  is  accursed;  and  in 
spite  of  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand,  and  such  perilous  stuff, 
talked  by  political  economists,  who,  for  the  most  part,  have  been 
materialists,  and  have  had  not  the  fear  of  God,  nor  the  study  of 
His  laws  before  their  eyes,  we  can  easily  see  what  the  laborer's 
hire  is.  For  giving  to  the  world  his  assistance,  honestly,  in  the 
lowest  form  of  labor,  he  is  entitled  to  demand  healthy  life,  room 
to  breathe,  enough  to  eat,  enough  for  his  wife  and  children,  and 
sufficient  joy,  relaxation,  and  play,  to  keep  him  in  proper  health. 
For  the  better  and  more  healthful  the  man,  the  more  true  labor 
the  world  gct^  from  him  ;  and  the  better  the  labor,  the  more  the 
world  is  benefited." 

The  tendency  of  modern  industry  is  to  separate  the  employer 
from  the  workman  by  a  constantly  widening  interval.  When  all 
the  work  of  the  world  was  done  by  hand  or  with  rude  machinery, 
in  small  shops  or  factories,  master  and  man  were  brought  into 
close  relations.  The  mill-owner  or  the  master-mechanic  not  only 
knew  the  men  in  his  employ,  but  often  wrought  by  their  side. 
Moreover,  there  was  no  such  disparity  of  social  conditions  as  we 
now  see  between  employers  and  laborers.  The  princely  fortunes, 
now  so  common,  were  then  as  rare ;  the  capitalist  was  not,  as  a 
rule,  raised  very  high  above  the  social  rank  of  the  laborer.     The 


1  Ibid. 


2  Friswell. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


525 


effect  of  the  improvement  of  machinery,  and  of  the  combination 
and  subdivision  of  labor,  hr.s  been  twofold.  On  the  one  hand, 
vast  numbers  of  laborers  are  now  brought  together  by  a  sino-le 
man,  who  deals  with  them  largely  through  hired  superintendents 
or  overseers,  and  scarcely  ever  knows  even  the  names  of  the 
])eople  on  his  pay-roll.  On  the  other  hand,  under  this  large 
system  of  manufactures,  it  is  possible  for  men  of  oriranizinir 
al)ility  and  energy  to  amass  enormous  wealth;  so  that  they  are 
separated,  socially,  from  the  people  they  employ,  by  a  distance 
almost  as  great  as  that  which  divides  an  English  duke  from  the 
peasantry  on  his  estates.  Many  of  them,  too,  have  their  homes 
in  cities  far  distant  from  their  mills  or  their  furnaces;  and  thus 
the  opportunity  for  acquaintance  with  their  employes  is  greatly 
diminished. 

Not  only  so,  but  a  large  part  of  the  production  of  the  country 
is  now  done  by  corporations ;  and  most  of  the  capitalists  that 
organize  and  control  the  business  have  in  this  case  nothinir  what- 
ever  to  do  witli  the  work-people.  The  agent  that  manages  the 
work  for  them  sometimes  has  a  limited  interest  in  the  profits  of 
production ;  but  he  is  usually  a  salaried  man,  and  he  understands 
that  what  is  wanted  of  him  is,  to  make  the  annual  dividends  on 
the  stock  as  large  as  possible.  The  operatives  know  him  only  as 
the  representative  of  the  corporation :  they  hear  him  say  that  he 
is  limited  in  his  actions  by  the  authority  of  the  corporation;  if 
he  deals  hardly  with  them,  they  are  given  to  understand  that  it 
is  by  order  of  the  board  of  directors,  and  that  he  has  no  alter- 
native in  the  matter.  Who  or  what  this  corporation  is,  they  do 
not  know  at  all.  Perhaps  they  have  never  heard  the  names  of 
the  capitalists  that  constitute  and  control  it.  It  is  a  great  imper- 
sonal force,  a  mighty  commercial  machine;  and  to  expect  of  it  a 
just  consideration,  or  a  nice  regard  for  the  equities  of  contracts, 


>   i;    ! 


^i 


i!  ; 


; 


r 


^J 


n 

> 
l'1 


■  f , 


n: 


h  i  < 


626 


MAN   AND   HIS    RELATIONS. 


^vould  bo  of  course  preposterous.  ''  Corjiorations  have  no  souls :" 
how.  then,  can  thev  jrovern  themselves,  in  their  relations  with 
the  persons  in  their  empk)y,  by  high  moral  considerations? 

This  tendency  to  separate  the  capitalist  and  the  laborer,  either 
throufrh  the  intervention  of  corporations  or  through  the  build- 
ing  up  of  immense  industrial  concerns  by  individuals  or  firms,  is 
one  of  the  things  to  be  deplored  and  resisted  by  all  employers 
that  mean  to  govern  themselves  by  the  Christian  law.  I  do  not 
condemn  the  large  system  of  industry.  It  is  doubtless  better 
that  much  of  the  work  of  manufacturing  should  be  done  on  a 
grand  scale.  Division  of  labor  greatly  reduces  the  cost  of  pro- 
duction ;  and  the  cheaper  the  products  of  industry  can  be  made, 
the  better  it  is  for  all  classes.  But  it  is  not  well,  and  it  is  not 
necessarv,  that  the  proprietor  of  a  large  establishment  should 
withdraw  himself  from  all  personal  relations  with  his  work- 
people. It  is  quite  possible  for  him  to  know  them  well,  and  to 
study  how  he  may  fulfill  the  injunction  of  the  apostle,  and  give 
unto  them  that  which  is  just  and  equal.^ 

Hitherto  a  remedy  for  the  hardships  and  injustice  of  the  labor- 
ers' lot  has  been  sought  chiefly  through  their  combination  with 
respect  only  to  their  industry,  strikes  being  organized  to  enforce 
higher  rates  of  wages,  under  the  penalty  of  work  being  discon- 
tinued all  at  once,  so  as  to  cause  machinery  and  other  forms  of 
capital  to  remain  idle  for  a  considerable  time  at  a  great  loss  to 
their  owners.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  that  strikes  are  ruinous  to 
both  parties — to  the  employed  as  well  as  the  employers.  By 
dimishing  production,  discouraging  enterprise,  consuming  capital 
unproductively,  and  bringing  in  foreign  competition,  they  dissi- 
pate the  means  of  paying  wages,  and  contract  the  field  for  the 
employment  of  industry.  They  spread  dissension  and  inflame 
hostility,  not  only  between  employers  and  workmen,  but  among 

1  Rev.  Washington  Gladden,  D.  D. 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


527 


the  workmen  themselves,  the  majority  of  them  striving  by  insults 
and  outrages  of  every  sort,  sometimes  even  by  violence  and  men- 
aces of  death,  to  compel  a  fevv  dissentients  to  engage  in  the  strike 
against  their  will.  The  funds  previously  accumulated  to  sup- 
port them  in  their  self-enforced  idlfeess  are  soon  expended ;  pri- 
vations and  extreme  suffering  ensue;  and  then  the  irritated  and 
half-starving  operatives  seek  vengeance  by  attacking  the  property 
or  lives  of  their  former  employers,  and  thus  incur  the  full  penal- 
ties of  the  law. 

Even  when  strikes  succeed,  thev  have  a  demoralizins:  influ- 
ence :  thev  violate  the  inalienable  ri<rht  of  everv  individual  to 
dispose  of  his  industry  and  his  property  as  he  pleases;  and  they 
lead  to  an  unjust  distribution  of  wages,  because  the  uniform  rates 
thus  established  raise  the  indolent  and  the  unskilled  to  an 
equality  with  industrious  and  efficient  workmen.  Periods  of 
compulsory  idleness  are  destructive  of  all  good  habits,  and  im- 
pair the  efficiency  of  subsequent  work.  Then,  too,  strikes  do 
not  always  succeed.  The  employers  can  combine  as  well  as  the 
employed  ;  and  on  account  of  the  fewness  of  their  number,  and 
their  large  command  of  capital,  they  can  hold  out,  though  at  great 
loss,  longer  than  their  opponents.  They  meet  the  strike  by  what  is 
called  a  "  lock-out'' — shutting  up  every  branch  and  department  of 
all  the  manufactories,  and  thus  compulsorily  increasing  the  num- 
ber of  operatives  without  work,  so  that  the  funds  provided  for 
supporting  them  in  idleness  may  be  sooner  exhausted.  Often  the 
distressed  laborers  are  thus  driven  to  surrender;  and  then,  after 
they  have  wasted  all  their  previous  earnings,  and  submitted  to 
much  hardship,  they  sullenly  go  back  to  work  at  the  old,  or  even 
at  reduced,  rates  of  pay. 

But,  however  inexpedient  and  demoralizing  strikes  may  be, 
they  can  not,  so  long  as  those  engaged  in  them  refrain  from  any 


1  I 


III! 


528 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


sort  of  outrage,  be  justly  forbidden  by  law.  Operatives  have  as 
<»-ood  a  ri<»'ht  to  form  combinations,  either  to  work  or  to  abstain 
from  work,  as  their  employers  have  to  unite  in  establishing  a 
tariff  of  prices  or  wages.  In  this  respect,  the  only  motto  for 
both  parties  must  be  Laissczfaire.  If  there  is  no  express  agree- 
ment to  that  effect,  neither  party  is  justly  bound  even  to  give 
previous  notice  of  the  termination  of  his  engagement :  no  such 
contract  ought  even  to  be  implied,  in  the  absence  of  express 
stipulation.  The  presumption  of  law  should  always  be  in  favor 
of  the  largest  liberty  for  both  parties.  English  legislation 
attempted  for  a  long  while  to  curtail  this  freedom  by  making  it 
a  penal  offense  for  the  workman  or  servant — the  two  words, 
used  indiscriminatelv,  showed  in  what  estimation  the  former  was 
lield — to  quit  his  employment  without  good  cause,  or  to  combine 
with  others  in  an  endeavor  to  raise  wages.  But  such  statutes 
are  now  repealed  or  disregarded,  from  a  conviction  of  their 
injustice  and  inutility. 

Labor,  as  Mr.  Thornton  reminds  us,  will  not  hcep.  It  can  not, 
like  other  commodities,  be  stored  away  to  await  a  favorable  turn 
in  the  market ;  but  it  must  be  sold  immediately,  or  a  portion  of 
it  will  be  wasted  with  every  hour's  delay.  Unlike  most  other 
traffickers,  also,  the  laborer  has  but  one  commodity — his  indus- 
try— to  sell.  If  he  can  not  dispose  of  that,  he  has  nothing  else 
wherewith  to  buy  food.  The  capitalist  employer,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  many  alternatives.  He  can  invest  his  property  in 
government  or  railroad  stock,  send  it  out  of  the  country  in  for- 
eign undertakings,  or  put  it  into  those  forms  of  manufactures 
Avhich,  as  they  are  carried  on  mainly  by  fixed  capital,  require 
comparatively  few  hands.  The  most  impolitic  thing  the  work- 
men can  do  is  to  provoke  a  contest  with  their  employers  in  some 
branch  of  industry  in   which,  because   recently  established  or 


;   ^ 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


529 


otherwise   in   an    unprosperous  state,  only    low  wages   can    be 
afforded.     A  strike  is  none  the  less  fatal  to  them  because  it  also 
ruins  their  paymasters,  and   thereby  shuts  up  one  field  for  em- 
ployment.    Those  who  work  for  wages,  moreover,  often  do  not 
have  much  except  their  wages  to  live  upon  ;  and  thus  they  find 
the  old  saying  is  true,  that  "  the  destruction  of  the  poor  is  their 
poverty,''  for  it  will  not  allow  them  to  chaffer  about  the  price  to 
be  paid  for  their  industry.    Tlie  employers  usually  have  to  regard 
only  their  own  competition  with  each  other,  being  confident  that 
the  lowest  price  which  they  are  thus  induced  to  offer  can  not  fail 
to  be  accepted  by  nearly  destitute  applicants  for  work.     When 
the  rate  of  profits  is  high,  this  competition  may  be  so  keen  that 
high  pay  will  be  offered  ;  but  if  the  success  of  previous  strikes 
has  reduced  profits  to  a  minimum,  the  competition  slackens  so 
much  that  employment  can  be  had  only  at  very  low  rates.    Thus 
the  very  success  of  the  strikes  may  sc  far  defeat  their  own  object 
as  to  render  any  employment  of  labor  on  a  large  scale  unprofit- 
able.^ 

It  would  appear  that  what  the  economists  call  the  wages 
fund — that  portion  of  the  capital  which  is  devoted  to  the  remu- 
neration of  labor — does  depend  somewhat  on  the  will  of  the 
capitalist.  It  depends  partly  on  his  habits  of  living  whether  it 
shall  be  increased  or  diminished.  If  he  is  lavish  in  his  personal 
expenditures,  he  will  not,  of  course,  have  so  large  a  wages  fund 
as  if  he  is  economical.     Here  is  an  employer  who  during  the 

year  spends  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the  merest  luxuries  of  life 

in  feasting  and  in  dressing,  in  that  which  is  consumed  and  cast 
aside  with  the  using:  must  not  his  power  to  remunerate  his 
workmen  be  reduced  by  that  amount?  Might  he  not,  if  he  had 
chosen,  have  used  this  money  in  increasing  the  wages  of  his 
laborers  ? 

35 

» Professor  Francis  Bowen. 


:i 


.  I 


ili 


» 

1  j 


\i 


I  f 


530 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


"  But  that  is  all  nonsense/'  answers  the  capitalist.  "  Business 
is  business.  Supply  and  demand,  my  dear  parson  !— supply  and 
demand !  Every  man  must  pay  the  market  priee  for  labor,  and 
any  man  is  a  fool  who  pays  more." 

No,  my  friend ;  you  do  yourself  wrong.     You  are  not  wholly 
the  victim  of  these  economical  laws;  you  resist  them,  and  rule 
them  sometimes,  in  the  interest  of  humanity.     There  is  a  poor 
man  in  your  employ   who  has  been   partly   disabled.     In   the 
market  he  could  get  almost  nothing  for  his  labor.     B;it  you  take 
pity  on  him  and  his  household,  and  continue  his  wages  at  the 
rate  you  paid  Mm  when  he  was  in  health.     That  is  not  '^  supply 
and  demand  "  at  all.    Another  law  comes  in  here— a  better  law— 
the  law  of  love.     You  do  bring  it  in,  now  and  then,  to  alleviate 
the  hardships  that  would  result  from  the  inflexible  enforcement 
of  those  economical  laws  of  which  you  speak.     The  question  is, 
whether  you  might  not  bring  it  in  a  little  oftener— whether, 
indeed,  you  might  not  incorporate  it  into  all  your  dealings  with 
your  working-men ;  and  instead  of  saying  "  Business  is  business," 
say  ''  Business  is  stewardship ;  business  is  the  high  calling  of 
God,  into  which  I  am  bound  to  put  conscience  and  benevolence, 
as  well  as  sagacity  and  enterprise."     This  is  just  what  Christian 
principle  ought  to  effect  on  the  side  of  capital,  in  the  relation 
between  capital  and    labor— just  what   it   does  effect   in  some 
degree ;  but  if,  on  the  present  basis  of  production,  there  is  to  be 
any  enduring  peace  between  these  now  warring  parties,  there 
must  be  on  the  part  of  capitalists  a  good  deal  more  of  this  inter- 
vention of  Christian  principle,  to  hold  in  check  the  cruel  tenden- 

•cies  of  the  economic  forces. 

Not  only  on  the  side  of  the  capitalist  must  this  spirit  of  sweet 
reasonableness  find  expression:  the  workman  must  govern  him- 
self by  the  same  law.     If  employers  are  sometimes  heartless  and 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


531 


extortionate,  laborers  are  sometimes  greedy  and  headstrong.     I 
have  known   of  more  than  one  case  in  which  workmen  have 
demanded  an  increase  of  wages  when  the  business  was  yieldincr- 
no  profits;  when  the  balance  every  month  was  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  employer's  books;  when  with  the  strictest  economv  in  his 
personal   expenditures,   and   the   most  careful  attention    to    his 
affairs,  he  was  growing  poorer  instead  of  richer  every  day.     I 
have   known   other  cases,   in   which   workmen   have   resisted    a 
reduction  of  wages,  when  that  was  the  only  condition  on  which 
the  business  could  be  carried  on  without  disaster.     As  a  mere 
matter  of  policy,  this  is  suicidal.     For  workmen  to  exact  a  rate 
of  pay  that  shall  destroy  the  business  by  which  they  get  their 
living,  is  simply  to  kill  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  Qgg  every 
day,  because  she  does  not  lay  two  every  day.     It  is  not,  however, 
with  the  policy  of  the  transaction  that  I  am  chiefly  concerned, 
but  with  the  rightfulness  of  it.     Grave  wrongs  are  often  in  this 
way  inflicted  upon  employers;  their  business  is  paralyzed,  their 
credit  is  impaired,  their  property  is  swept  away;    and,  in  the 
destruction  of  the  enterprises  which  they  are  carrying  on,  their 
power  to  help  and  serve    their  fellow-men   is  crippled.      For 
nothing  is  plainer  than  that  a  man  who  organizes  and  carries  on 
any  honest  business,  in  which   he  gives  employment  and  fair 
renumeration  to  laborers,  ought  to  be  considered  a  public  bene- 
factor.    All  depends,  of  course,  upon  the  manner  in  which  he 
manages  his  business.     If  it  is  managed  in  the  spirit  of  Shylock, 
it  may  be  an  injury  to  the  community;  but  if  it  is  based  upon 
principles  of  justice  and  fair  play,  it  is  a  benefit  to  the  community, 
and  the  destruction  of  it  is  a  calamity  and  a  wrong,  not  only  to 
him,  but  also  to  the  public.     Any  combination  of  laborers  that 
undertakes  to  cripple  or  to  kill  an  enterprise  of  this   kind    is 
engaged  in  a  bad  business. 


1        ! 


I 


l-l    1 


532 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


"Is  this  meant,  then,  for  a  condemnation  of  strikes?'^  asks 
somebody.     Not  necessarily.     I  have  no  doubt  that  such  combi- 
nations of  hiborers  are  often  unwise  and  unprofitable;  that,  as  a 
general  thing,  they  result  in  more  loss  than  gain  to  the  laboring 
classes  ;  but  it  does  not  appear  to  me  that  they  are  always  morally 
wrong.     This  is  a  free  country  :    if  you  do  not  choose  to  work 
for  a  man  unless  he  will  pay  you  a  certain  rate  of  wages,  no  one 
can  compel  you  to  do  so ;  and  if  ten  or  twenty  or  two  hundred 
of  your  fellow^workmen  are  of  the  same  mind,  and  prefer  to  be 
idle  for  a  season  rather  than  to  take  less  than  the  price  demanded 
for  their  services,  they  have  a  right  to  do  it.     But  it  seems  to  me 
that  vou  ought  to  consider  whether  by  your  combination  you  may 
not  be  inflicting  serious  damage  upon  the  whole  community,  and 
that  you  ought  to  have  some  regard  to  the  public  good  in  what 
you  clo.     If  the  Christian  law  governs  your  conduct,  you  will 
think  of  this.     But  if  you  can  satisfy  yourself  that  the  public 
welfare  will  take  no,  serious  detriment  from  your  action,  I  do  not 
know  that  it  can  be  shown  to  be  morally  wrong.     You  and  your 
fellows  may  find  it  for  your  advantage  to  take  this  course;  and 
it  is  a  lawful  means  of  securing  your  own  advantage.     On  the 
other  hand,  it  may  be  for  your  disadvantage;  you  may  be  worse 
oif  in  the  end:  but  that  is  your  concern  and  the  concern  of  those 
dependent  on  you.     So  long  as  you  pay  your  honest  debts,  and 
support  your  families,  no  one  else  has  a  right  to  complain  if  you 
do  take  a  course  which  results  in  loss  and  damage  to  yourself 

Certain  measures  are,  however,  frequently  resorted  to  at  such 
times  that  are  morally  wrong.  You  have  a  right  to  refuse  to 
work  for  less  than  a  certain  rate,  and  you  have  a  right  to  influence 
others  to  join  with  you  in  this  refusal ;  but  you  have  no  right  to 
use  force  or  intimidation  to  keep  any  man  from  working  for  less. 
Nobody  has  any  right  to  force  you  to  work :  you  have  no  right 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


533 


liil 

I  i 


to  compel  anybody  to  be  idle  who  is  satisfied  with  less  wages 
than  you  demand.  He  may  be  a  poor  workman  ;  but  that  is  his 
employer's  concern,  not  yours.  If  you  can  persuade  him  to  join 
you,  very  good ;  but  you  have  no  right  to  lay  a  straw  in  his  way 
if  he  refuses  to  join  you.  AVe  believe  in  free  labor  in  this 
country,  do  we  not?  And  that  belief  implies  that  no  laborer 
ought  to  be  enslaved  or  coerced  by  his  employer  or  by  his  fellow- 
laborers.  ...  If  the  capitalist  would  measure  his  profits, 
and  the  working-man  his  wages,  by  the  Golden  Eule,  there 
would  be  instant  peace.  And  that  is  the  only  way  to  secure 
peace  on  the  basis  of  the  wages  system.  Political  economy  can 
not  secure  it:  its  maxims  breed  more  strife  than  they  allay. 
Political  economy  only  deals  with  natural  forces;  and  the  natural 
forces,  even  those  which  manifest  themselves  in  society,  often 
seem  to  be  heartless  and  cruel.  The  law  of  nature  would  appear  to 
be  the  survival  of  the  strongest;  and  it  is  the  workings  of  this 
law  with  which  political  economy  has  to  do.  Legislation  can 
not  stop  this  strife.  AVhat,  indeed,  is  law  but  an  edict  of  force? 
Behind  every  law  is  the  policeman's  billy  or  the  soldier's  bayo- 
net. It  has  no  meaning,  no  efficacy,  unless  there  is  force  behind 
it.  And  you  can  not  make  peace  with  a  sword  between  these 
contending  interests.  A  gentler  influence,  a  subtler  but  a 
mightier  force,  must  take  possession  of  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
the  combatants  on  either  side  before  the  warfare  Avill  cease.^ 

The  Art  of  Living  with  Others. — In  the  first  place,  if 
people  are  to  live  happily  together,  they  must  not  fancy,  because 
they  are  thrown  together  now,  that  all  their  lives  have  been 
exactly  similar  up  to  the  present  time,  that  they  started  exactly 
alike,  and  that  they  are  to  be  for  the  future  of  the  same  mind. 
A  thorough  conviction  of  the  difference  of  men  is  the  great 
thing  to  be  assured  of  in  social  knowiedt^e:  it  is  to  life  what 


pi 


I 


! 
■    ! 


lli 


1  Gladden. 


534 


MAX    AND    HIS    RELATIONS. 


Newton's  law  is  to  astronomy.  Sometimes  men  have  a  knowledge 
of  it  with  regard  to  the  world  in  general:  they  do  not  expect 
the  outer  world  to  agree  with  them  in  all  points,  but  are  vexed 
at  not  being  able  to  drive  their  own  tastes  and  opinions  into 
those  they  live  with.  Diversities  distress  them.  They  will  not 
see  that  there  are  many  forms  of  virtue  and  wisdom.  Yet  we 
mio-ht  as  well  sav,  '^  Whv  all  these  stars;  why  this  difference; 
why  not  all  one  star?" 

Many  of  the  rules  for  people  living  together  in  peace,  follow 
from  the  above.  For  instance,  not  to  interfere  unreasonably 
with  others,  not  to  ridicule  their  tastes,  not  to  question  and 
requestion  their  resolves,  not  to  indulge  in  perpetual  comment 
on  their  proceedings,  and  to  delight  in  their  having  other  pur- 
suits than  ours,  are  all  based  upon  a  thorough  perception  of  the 
simple  fact,  that  they  are  not  we. 

Another  rule  for  living  happily  with  others,  is  to  avoid  hav- 
ing stock  subjects  of  disputation.  It  mostly  happens,  wdien 
people  live  much  together,  that  they  come  to  have  certain  set 
topics,  around  which,  from  frequent  dispute,  there  is  such  a 
growth  of  angry  words,  mortified  vanity,  and  the  like,  that  the 
orio-inal  subject  of  difference  becomes  a  standing  subject  for 
quarrel ;  and  there  is  a  tendency  in  all   minor  disputes  to  drift 

down  to  it. 

Again,  if  people  wish  to  live  well  together,  they  must  not 
hold  too  much  to  logic,  and  suppose  that  everything  is  to  be 
settled  by  sufficient  reason.  Dr.  Johnson  saw  this  clearly  with 
re2:ard  to  married  people,  when  he  said,  "  Wretched  would  be  the 
pair  above  all  names  of  wretchedness,  who  should  be  doomed  to 
adjust  by  reason,  every  morning,  all  the  minute  detail  of  a 
domestic  day."  But  the  application  sliould  be  much  more  gen- 
eral than  he  made  it.     There  is  no  time  for  such  reasonings,  and 


SOCIAL   ASPECTS. 


535 


nothino;  that  is  worth  them.  And  when  we  recollect  how  two 
lawyers,  or  two  politicians,  can  go  on  contending,  and  that  there 
is  no  end  of  one-sided  reasoning  on  any  subject,  we  shall  not  be 
sure  that  such  contention  is  the  best  mode  for  arriving  at  truth. 
But  certainly  it  is  not  the  way  to  arrive  at  good  temper. 

If  you  would  be  loved  as  a  companion,  avoid  unnecessary 
criticism  upon  those  with  whom  you  live.  The  number  of  people 
who  have  taken  out  judges'  patents  for  themselves  is  very  large 
in  anv  societv.  Now^  it  would  be  hard  for  a  man  to  live  with 
another  who  was  always  criticising  his  actions,  even  if  it  were 
kindly  and  just  criticism.  It  would  be  like  living  between  the 
glasses  of  a  microscope.  But  these  self-elected  judges,  like  their 
prototypes,  are  very  apt  to  have  the  persons  they  judge  brought 
before  them  in  the  guise  of  culprits. 

One  of  the  most  provoking  forms  of  the  criticism  above 
alluded  to,  is  that  which  may  be  called  criticism  over  the 
shoulder.  "  Had  I  been  consulted,"  '*  Had  you  listened  to  me," 
*'But  you  always  wnll,"  and  such  short  scraps  of  sentences,  may 
remind  manv  of  us  of  dissertations  which  we  have  suffered  and 
inflicted,  and  of  which  we  can  not  call  to  mind  any  soothing 
effect. 

Another  rule  is,  not  to  let  familiarity  swallow  up  all  courtesy. 
Many  of  us  have  a  habit  of  saying  to  those  with  whom  we  live 
such  thin<rs  as  we  sav  about  stransrers  behind  their  backs.  There 
is  no  place,  however,  where  real  jwliteness  is  of  more  value  than 
where  we  mostly  think  it  would  be  superfluous.  You  may  say 
more  truth,  or  ratlter  speak  out  more  plainly,  to  your  associates, 
but  not  less  courteously,  than  you  do  to  strangers. 

Again,  we  must  not  expect  more  from  the  society  of  our 
friends  and  companions  than  it  can  give ;  and  especially  must 
not  expect  contrary  things.     It  is  somewhat  arrogant  to  talk  of 


1  M 


I 


'1 


li 

,  \ 

I 

3  l 


4      I 


f 


h  m  ' 


N 


536 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


traveling  over  other  minds  (mind  being,  fur  ^vllat  we  know, 
infinite)  :  but  still  we  become  fiimiliar  with  the  upper  views, 
tastes,  and  tempers  of  our  associates.  And  it  is  hardly  in  man 
to  estimate  justly  what  is  familiar  to  him.  In  traveling  along  at 
nio-ht,  as  Hazlitt  says,  we  catch  a  glimpse  into  cheerful-looking 
'rooms  with  light  blazing  in  them,  and  we  conclude,  involun- 
tarily, how  happy  the  inmates  must  be.  Yet  there  is  Heaven 
and  Hell  in  those  rooms,  the  same  Heaven  and  Hell  that  we 
have  known  in  others. 

There  are  two  great  classes  of  promoters  of  social  happiness- 
cheerful  people  and  people  who  have  some  reticence.  The  latter 
are  more  secure  benefits  to  society  even  than  the  former.  They 
are  non-conductors  of  all  the  heats  and  animosities  around  them. 
To  have  peace  in  a  house,  or  a  family,  or  any  social  circle,  the 
members  of  it  must  beware  of  passing  on  hasty  and  uncharitable 
speeches,  which,  the  whole  of  the  context  seldom  being  told,  is 
often  not  conveying,  but  creating,  mi.-clnef.  They  must  be  very 
good  people  to  avoid  doing  this;  for,  let  human  nature  say  what 
it  will,  it  likes  sometimes  to  look  on  at  a  quarrel ;  and  that  not 
altogether  from  ill-nature,  but  from  a  love  of  excitement— for 
the  "lame  reason  that  Charles  the  Second  liked  to  attend  the 
debates  in  the  House  of  Lords,  because  they  were  "  as  good  as 

a  play.'' 

We  come  now  to  the  consideration  of  temper,  which  might 

have  bee^  expected  to  be  treated  first.  But,  to  cut  off  the 
means  and  causes  of  bad  temper,  is,  perhaps,  of  as  much  im- 
portance as  any  direct  dealing  with  the  temper  itself.  Besides, 
it  is  probable  that  in  small  social  circles  there  is  more  suffering 
from  unkindness  than  ill-temper.  Anger  is  a  thing  that  those 
who  live  under  us  suffer  more  from  than  those  who  live  with  us. 
But  all  the  forms  of  ill-humor  and  sour-sensitiveness,  which 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS. 


537 


especially  belong  to  equal  intimacy  (though,  indeed,  they  are 
common  to  all),  are  best  to  be  met  by  impassiveness.  When 
two  sensitive  persons  are  shut  up  together,  they  go  on  vexing 
each  other  with  a  reproductive  irritability.  But  sensitive  and 
hard  people  get  on  well  together.  The  supply  of  temper  is  not 
altogether  out  of  the  usual  laws  of  supply  and  demand. 

Intimate  friends  and  relations  should  be  careful  when  they  go 
out  into  the  world  together,  or  admit  others  to  their  own  circle, 
that  they  do  not  make  a  bad  use  of  the  knowledge  which  they 
have  gained  of  each  other  by  their  intimacy.  Nothing  is  more 
common  than  this,  and,  did  it  not  mostly  proceed  from  mere 
carelessness,  it  would  be  superlatively  ungenerous.  You  seldom 
need  wait  for  the  written  life  of  a  man  to  hear  about  his  weak- 
nesses, or  what  are  sup230sed  to  be  such,  if  you  know  his  intimate 
friends,  or  meet  him  in  company  with  them. 

Lastly,  in  conciliating  those  we  live  with,  it  is  most  surely 
done,  not  by  consulting  their  interests,  nor  by  giving  way  to 
their  opinions,  so  much  as  by  not  offending  their  tastes.  The 
most  refined  part  of  us  lies  in  this  region  of  taste,  which  is,  per- 
haps, a  result  of  our  whole  being  rather  than  a  part  of  our  nature, 
and,  at  any  rate,  is  the  region  of  our  most  subtle  sympathies  and 
antipathies. 

It  may  be  said  that,  if  the  great  principles  of  Christianity 
were  attended  to,  all  such  rules,  suggestions,  and  observations 
as  the  above  would  be  needless.  True  enough !  Great*  princi- 
ples are  at  the  bottom  of  all  things;  but,  to  apply  them  to  daily 
life,  many  little  rules,  precautions,  and  insights  are  needed. 
Such  things  hold  a  middle  place  between  real  life  and  principles, 
as  form  does  between  matter  and  spirit :  molding  the  one  and 
expressing  the  other.^ 

J  Helps. 


r>\] 


I 


I 


5  1 
*  J 


:     :   I 


\  ■ 


p 


1  ^ 


I 


H\ 


CHAPTER    X. 


POLITICAL    ASPECTS. 

Responsibility  educates,  and  politics  is  but  another  name  for  God's  way  of  teaching 
the  masses  ethics  under  the  responsibility  of  great  present  interests.— Wendell  Phillips. 

MAX  was  formed  for  society ;  and,  as  is  demonstrated  by  the 
writers  on  the  subject,  is  neither  capable  of  living  alone, 

nor  indeed  has  the  courage  to  do  it.  However,  as  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  the  whole  race  of  mankind  to  be  united  in  one  great 
society,  they  must  necessarily  divide  into  many,  and  form  sepa- 
rate states,  commonwealths,  and  nations,  entirely  independent  of 
each  other,  and  yet  liable  to  a  mutual  intercourse.^ 

If  a  man  steal  from  his  neighbor,  the  whole  community  can 
not  leave  leave  their  occupations  to  detect,  to  try,  and  to  punish 
the  thief.  Or,  if  a  law  is  to  be  enacted  respecting  the  punish- 
ment of  theft,  it  can  not  be  done  by  the  whole  community,  but 
must  of  necessity  be  intrusted  to  delegates.  On  the  principle  of 
division  of  labor,  it  is  manifest  that  this  service  will  be  both 
more  cheaply  and  more  perfectly  done  by  those  who  devote  them- 
selves to  it,  than  by  those  who  are  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  engaged  in  other  occupations. 

Now,  I  suppose  a  government  to  be  that  system  of  delegated 
agencies  by  which  these  obligations  of  society  to  the  individual 
are  fulfilled.  And,  moreover,  as  every  society  may  have  vari- 
ous engagements  to  form  irith  other  independent  societies,  it  is 

(538) 
1  Blackstone. 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


539 


convenient,  in  general,  that  this  business  should  be  transacted  by 
this  same  system  of  agencies.  These  two  offices  of  government, 
though  generally  united,  are  in  their  nature  distinct.  Thus  we 
see,  in  our  own  country,  the  State  governments  are,  to  a  consid- 
erable degree,  intrusted  with  the  first,  while  Vi  port  of  the  former, 
and  all  the  latter  powTr,  vest  in  the  General  government. 

A  government  thus  understood  is  naturally  divided  into  three 
parts : 

1.  An  individual  may,  from  ignorance,  violate  the  rights  of 
his  neighbor,  and  thus  innocently  expose  himself  to  punishment. 
Or,  if  he  violate  his  neighbor's  rights  maliciously,  and  justly 
merit  punishment,  a  punishment  may  be  inflicted  more  severe 
than  the  nature  of  the  case  demands.  To  avoid  this,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  the  various  fi)rms  of  violation  be  as  clearly  as  possible 
defined,  and  also  that  the  penalty  be  plainly  and  explicitly 
attached  to  each.  This  is  a  law.  This,  as  we  have  shown,  must 
be  done  by  delegates.  These  delegates  are  called  a  legislature, 
and  the  individual  members  of  it  are  legislators. 

From  what  we  have  said,  their  power  is  manifestly  limited. 
They  have  no  power,  except  to  execute  the  obligations  wdiich 
society  has  undertaken  to  fulfill  towards  the  individual.  This  is 
all  that  society  has  conferred,  for  it  is  all  that  society  had  to 
confer. 

If  legislators  assume  any  power  not  conferred  on  them  by 
society,  or  exercise  any  power  conferred,  for  any  purpose  differ- 
ent from  that  for  which  it  was  conferred,  they  violate  right,  and 
are  guilty  of  usurpation. 

2.  But  suppose  a  law  to  be  enacted;  that  is,  a  crime  to  be 
defined,  and  the  penalty  to  be  affixed.  It  has  reference  to  no 
particular  case ;  for,  when  enacted,  no  case  existed  to  be  affected 
by  it.     Suppose,  now,  an  individual  to  be  accused  of  violating 


if* 


V, 


J  -I 


!' 


1,!^ 


!  ♦ 


r 


u. 


540 


MAN  AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


this  law.  Here  it  is  necessary  to  apply  the  law  to  this  particular 
case.  In  order  to  do  this,  we  must  ascertain,  first,  whether  the 
accused  did  commit  the  act  laid  to  his  charge ;  secondly,  whether 
the  act,  if  it  be  proved  to  have  been  done,  is  a  violation  of  the 
law — that  is,  whether  it  come  within  the  description  of  actions 
which  the  law  forbids — and,  thirdly,  if  this  be  proved,  it  is 
necessary  to  declare  the  punishment  which  the  law  assigns  to 
this  particular  violation.  This  is  the  judicial  branch  of  the  gov- 
ernment. 

3.  After  the  law  has  been  thus  applied  to  this  particular  case, 
it  is  necessarv  tliat  it  be  carried  into  effect.  This  devolves  upon 
the  third,  or  the  executive  branch  of  the  government. 

Respecting  all  of  these  three  branches  of  government,  it  may  be 
remarked  in  general,  that  they  are  essentially  independent  of  each 
other  ;  that  each  one  has  its  specific  duties  marked  out  by  society, 
within  the  sphere  of  which  duties  it  is  responsible  to  society,  and 
to  society  alone.  Nor  is  this  independence  at  all  affected  by  the 
mode  of  its  apjiointment.  Society  may  choose  a  way  of  appoint- 
ing an  agent,  but  that  is  by  no  means  a  surrender  of  the  claim 
which  it  has  upon  the  agent.  Thus,  society  may  impose  upon 
a  legislature  or  an  executive  the  duty  of  appointing  a  judi- 
ciary ;  but  the  judiciary  is  just  as  much  independent  of  the  execu- 
tive or  of  the  legislature  as  though  it  were  appointed  in  some 
other  way.  Society,  by  conferring  upon  one  branch  the  right  of 
appointment  J  has  conferred  upon  it  no  other  right.  The  judge, 
although  appointed  by  the  legislator,  is  as  independent  of  him  as 
the  legislator  would  be  if  appointed  by  the  judge.  Each,  within 
his  own  sphere,  is  under  obligation  to  perform  precisely  those 
duties  assigned  by  society,  and  no  other.  And  hence  arises  the 
propriety  of  establishing  the  tenure  of  office,  in  each  several 
branch,  independently  of  the  other. 


ii'i 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


541 


The  first  two  of  these  departments  are  frequently  subdivided. 

Thus,  the  legislative  department  is  commonly  divided  into  two 
branches,  chosen  under  dissimilar  conditions,  for  the  purpose 
of  exerting  a  check  upon  each  other,  by  representing  society 
under  different  aspects,  and  thus  preventing  partial  and  hasty 
legislation. 

The  judiciary  is  also  generally  divided.  The  judges  explain 
and  inter])ret  the  law,  while  it  is  the  province  of  the  jury  to 
ascertain  the  facts. 

The  executive  is  generally  sole,  and  executes  the  law  by  means 
of  subordinate  agents.  Sometimes,  however,  a  council  is  added, 
for  the  sake  of  advice,  without  whose  concurrence  the  executive 
can  not  act. 

Sometimes  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  social  compact 
are  expressed,  and  the  respective  powers  of  the  different  branches 
of  the  government  are  defined,  and  the  mode  of  their  appoint- 
ment described,  in  a  written  document.  Such  is  the  case  in  the 
United  States.  At  other  times  these  principles  and  customs  have 
grown  up  with  the  progress  of  society,  and  are  the  deductions 
drawn  from,  or  principles  established  by,  uncontested  usage: 
the  latter  is  the  case  in  Great  Britain.  In  either  case,  such  prin- 
ciples and  practices,  whether  expressed  or  understood,  are  called 
the  constitution  of  a  countrv. 

Nations  differ  widely  in  the  mode  of  selection  to  office,  and  in 
the  tenure  by  which  office  is  held.  Thus,  under  some  con- 
stitutions, the  government  is  wholly  hereditary.  In  others  it  is 
partly  hereditary  and  partly  elective.  In  others  it  is  wholly 
elective. 

Thus,  in  Great  Britain,  the  executive  and  one  branch  of  the 
legislature  are  hereditary ;  the  other  branch  of  the  legislature  is 
elective.     The  judiciary  is  appointed  by  the  executive,  though 


In 

'     1 


!!■ 


i' 


542 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


they  hold  office,  except  in  the  case  of  the  lord  high  chancellor, 
during  good  behavior. 

In  the  United  States  the  executive  and  both  branches  of  the 
legislature  are  elective.  The  judiciary  is  appointed  by  the  exec- 
utive, by  and  with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the  senate.  In  the 
State  governments  the  mode  of  appointment  is  various.  If  it  be 
asked,  Which  of  these  is  the  preferable  form  of  government  ? 
the  answer,  I  think,  must  be  conditional.  The  best  form  of 
government  for  any  people  is  the  best  that  its  present  moral  and 
social  co)idition  renders  practicable.  A  people  may  be  so  entirely 
surrendered  to  the  influence  of  passion,  and  so  feebly  influenced  by 
morcd  restraint,  that  a  government  which  relied  upon  moral 
power  could  not  exist  for  a  day.  In  this  case  a  subordinate  and 
inferior  principle  yet  remains — the  principle  of  fear ;  and  the  only 
resort  is  to  a  government  of  force,  or  a  military  despotism.  And 
such  do  we  see  to  be  the  fact.  An  anarchy  always  ends  in  this 
form  of  government.  After  this  lias  been  established,  and  habits 
of  subordination  have  been  formed,  while  the  moral  restraints 
are  yet  too  feeble  for  self-government,  a  hereditary  government, 
which  addresses  itself  to  the  imagination,  and  strengthens  itself 
by  the  influence  of  domestic  connections  and  established  usaee, 
may  be  as  good  a  form  as  a  people  can  sustain.  As  they  advance 
in  intellectual  and  moral  cultivation,  it  may  advantageously  be- 
come more  and  more  elective  ;  and,  in  a  suitable  moral  condition, 
it  may  be  wholly  so.  For  beings  who  are  willing  to  govern 
themselves  by  moral  principle,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  gov- 
ernment relying  upon  moral  principle  is  the  true  form  of  govern- 
ment. There  is  no  reason  why  a  man  should  be  oppressed  by 
taxation,  and  subjected  to  fear,  who  is  willing  to  govern  himself 
by  the  law  of  reciprocity.  It  is  surely  better  for  an  intelligent 
and  moral   being  to   do   right   from  his  own  will  than  to  pay 


POLITICAL    ASPECTS. 


543 


another  to  force  him  to  do  right.  And  yet,  as  it  is  better  that  he 
should  do  right  than  wrong,  even  though  he  be  forced  to  it,  it  is 
well  that  he  should  pay  others  to  force  him,  if  there  be  no  other 
way  of  insuring  his  good  conduct.  God  has  rendered  the  bless- 
ing of  freedom  inseparable  from  moral  restraint  in  the  individ- 
ual ;  and  hence  it  is  vain  for  a  people  to  expect  to  be  free,  unless 
they  are  first  willing  to  be  virtuous. 

It  is  on  this  point  that  the  question  of  the  permanency  of  the 
present  form  of  government  of 'the  United  States  turns.     That 
such  a  form  of  government  requires,  of  necessity,  a  given  amount 
of  virtue  in  the  people,  can  not,  I  think,  be  doubted.     If  we 
possess  that  required  amount  of  virtue,  or  if  we  can  attain  to  it, 
the  government  will  stand ;  if  not,  it  will  fall.     Or,  if  we  now 
possess  that  amount  of  virtue,  and  do  not  maintain  it,  the  gov- 
ernment will  fall.    There  is  no  self-sustaining  power  in  any  form 
of  social  organization.    The  only  self-sustaining  power  is  in  indi- 
vidual virtue ;  and  the  form  of  a  government  will  always  adjust 
itself  to  the  moral  condition  of  a  people.     A  virtuous  people 
will,  by  their  own  moral  power,  frown  away  oppression,  and, 
under  any   form    of   constitution,   become   essentially   free.      A 
people  surrendered  up  to  their  own  licentious  passions  must  be 
held  in  subjection  by  force ;  for  every  one  will  find  that  force 
alone  can  protect  him  from  his  neighbors,  and  he  will  submit  to 
be  oppressed  if  he  may  only  be  protected.     Thus,  in  the  feudal 
ages,  the  small  independent  landholders  frequently  made  them- 
selves slaves  of  one  jjowerful  chief,  in  order  to  shield  themselves 
from  the  incessant  oppression  of  twenty} 

In  dealing  with  the  State,  we  ought  to  remember  that  its  insti- 
tutions are  not  aboriginal,  though  they  existed  before  we  were 
born :  that  they  are  not  superior  to  the  citizen :  that  every  one 
of  them  was  once  the  act  of  a  single  man  :  every  law  and  usage 


I 


5 


\    . 


I 


f 
I 


\l 


^  Waylaiid. 


1- , 


Ml 


f 


r 


544 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


was  a  man's  expedient  to  meet  a  particular  case  :  that  they  are 
all  imitable,  all  alterable;  we  may  make  as  good  ;  we  may  make 
better.  .  .  .  Politics  rest  on  necessarv  foundations,  and  can 
not  be  treated  with  levity.  Kepublics  abound  in  young  civilians, 
who  believe  that  the  laws  make  the  city,  that  grav^e  modifications 
of  the  policy  and  modes  of  living,  and  employments  of  the  popu- 
lation, that  commerce,  education,  and  religion,  may  be  voted  in 
or  out ;  and  that  any  measure,  though  it  were  absurd,  may  be 
imposed  on  a  people,  if  only  you  can  get  sufficient  voices  to  make 
it  a  law.  But  the  wise  know^  that  f  »olish  legislation  is  a  rope  of 
sand,  which  perishes  in  the  twisting;  that  the  State  must  follow, 
and  not  lead,  the  character  and  progress  of  the  citizen ;  the 
strongest  usurper  is  quickly  got  rid  of;  and  they  only  who  build 
on  Ideas,  build  for  eternity ;  and  that  the  form  of  government 
which  prevails,  is  the  expression  of  what  cultivation  exists  In  the 
population  which  permits  it.  The  law  is  only  a  memoran- 
dum. .  .  .  The  history  of  the  State  sketches  in  coarse 
outline  the  progress  of  thought,  and  follows  at  a  distance  the 
delicacy  of  culture  and  of  aspiration.^ 

National  Forces.  —  Each  nation  of  the  globe  is  a  huge 
battery  of  spiritual  forces  to  which  each  individual  contributes 
something.  The  oneness  of  the  nation  is  the  unity  of  the  gal- 
vanic current  that  is  generated  from  the  many  layers  of  metal 
and  acid.  And  the  question  of  the  superior  power  of  one  nation 
over  another  is  not  at  all  to  be  decided  by  the  rc^lative  numbers 
of  population  and  armies,  nor  by  the  forts,  guns,  and  magazines, 
but  rather  bv  the  relative  mental  and  moral  enerofies  of  the  lands. 
France,  for  instance,  is  a  magnificent  incarnation  of  a  certain 
temperament,  and  the  generations  that  rise  up  in  her  borders 
continually  supply  the  same  mental  and  social  forces,  thus  giving 
her  one  character  through  centuries.     England,  moreover,  is  the 


1  Emerson. 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


545 


hive  of  very  different  passions  and  powers,  and  the  point  whether, 
i»  a  long  war,  giving  each   side   money  enough,   England  or 
France  would  triumph.  Is  reduced  to  the  question  whether  the 
effervescent  impulses  and  military  enthusiasm   of  the  Celtic  blood 
are  superior,  as  spiritual  qualities,  to  the  more  slow  and  sullen 
force,   the   cautious    but   persistent   resolution,   and   the   tou<Th 
obstinacy  of  resistance  that  make  up  the  power  of  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  army.     In  the  great  campaigns  of  Wellington  in  Spain, 
and  in  the  conduct  of  the  struggle  at  Waterloo,  this  was  the  real 
strife— a  wrestle  of  certain  spiritual  qualities  with  each  other. 
The  charge  of  the  French  under  Ney  or  Murat,  and  beneath  the 
eye  of  Xapoleon,  was  the  gathering  roll  and  swing  of  the  storm- 
waves;  whatever  was  movable  must  fidl  before  it;  but  the  mind 
and  the  resources  of  Wellington  and  the  temper  of  the  men  who 
served  him  were  the  Saxon  rock  on  which  those  magnificent 
Celtic  surges  swung  their  white  wrath  in  vain.     Everv  charo-e 
of  Ney's  cavalry  against  Wellington's  central  position  at  Water- 
loo was  the  beat  of  a  fiery  sensibility  against  a  stony  patience. 
The  whole  scene  was  less  a  contest  of  military  science  than  a 
visible  conflict  of  different  passions  and  a  thorough  testing  of 
their  strength.     It  was  the  old  hypothesis,  in  dramatic  play,  of 
an  irresistible  in  contact  with  an  Immovable.     The  irresistible 
was  spent,  the  immovable  stood  fast.     .     .     .     Our  doctrine  is 
illustrated,  also,  by  the  fact  that  the  power  of  a  nation  is  made 
up,  In  part,  by  the  generations  of  past  years,  whose  bodily  forms 
long   ago    moldered    to    dust.      There  is  no  more  beautiful  or 
impressive  law  of  history  than  that  by  which  the  past  genius  and 
patriotic  devotedness  are  woven  into  the  structure  of  a  people, 
giving  it  character.      The  acts  and  spirit  of  a  person's  former 
years  are  not  lost,  but  are  represented  in  the  face,  the  habits,  the 

weakness,  or  the  power  of  the  person's  mind  and  heart  to-day. 
36        . 


i  I 


i  i 


n- 


u 


It. 


p 

hi 

n  ■ 

If 
11 


546 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


I  i 


In  the  same  way  a  state  has  a  personality  that  endures  through 
centuries;  all  its  great  men  and  bad  men,  its  good  laws  and  vik3 
laws,  its  faithfulness  and  its  crimes,  contribute  to  its  character; 
nothing  dies;  but  what  was  fact  and  show  in  a  living  generation 
becomes  force  and  substance  when  the  actors  have  departed. 
Look  at  England,  for  instance.     Is  that  which  we  call  England 
composed  simply   of  twenty   millions  of  men  and  women  that 
inhabit  that  island  now  ?     How  truly  do  the  statesmen,  patriots, 
orators,  poets,  kings,  cabinets,  and  parties  of  several  hundred 
years,  belong  to  our  conception  of  what  England  is?     The  wit- 
ness of  their  activity  is  not  only  prominent  in  the  literature  and 
art,  the  castles  and  cathedrals,  the  palaces  and  towers,  the  liber- 
ties and  laws,  that  are  visible  on  the  English  land  and  in  their 
societv,  but  an  incalculable  force  has  been  shed  from  this  back- 
ground  of  greatness  and  genius  into  the  generation  of  to-day,  and 
through  the  present  will  be  transmitted  into  the  future.     Let  a 
hostile  cabinet  declare  war  against  England,  and  try  to  tread  out 
her  spirit  and  influence,  and  they  would  find  that  a   force   is 
needed   competent  to  crush   twenty  generations.      For  though 
the  merchants,  traders,  and  laborers  little  think  of  it  in  time  of 
peace,  and  perhaps  care  not  half  a  fig  for  the  men  that  walked 
through  the  streets  they  tread,  two  centuries  ago,  Sidney,  Rus- 
sell,   Pym,    and    Hampden,    New^ton,    and    Shakespeare,    and 
Chathinn,  the  great  dead  of  ^Yestminister  Abbey,  and  the  hon- 
ored names  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  still  stand  in  the  back- 
ground, and  in  an  emergency  would  start  forward  and  give  the 
immense    momentum    of    their   spirit   to    an    onset    against   an 
invading   foe.     As   the   ghost   of   the    hero   Theseus   appeared, 
according   to   the    Athenians,   on    the    field    of   Marathon,  and 
inspirited  their  ranks  against  the  Persians,  the  greatness  which 
a  nation  has  enshrined  in  its  traditions  ife  part  of  its  deepest 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


547 


present  life;  and  it  often  happens  that  the  shades  of  the  fathers 
are  a  more  substantial  rampart  for  a  land  than  the  swords  of 
the  children. 

See,  too,  how  our  revolutionary  experience,  genius,  and  fidelitv 
are  involved  in  the  character  of  America.     They  are  not  dead 
fiicts  written   in   mute  annals;  they  are  vital  memories  of  the 
nation,  as  though  the  same  men  that  are  now  on  the  sta^re  had 
once  performed  them.     We  take  the  credit  of  that  wisdom,  per- 
sistence, and  sacrifice  partly  to  ourselves ;  we  are  proud  of  them  ; 
and  in  any  crisis  our  arms  would  be  the  stronger,  our  wit  the 
quicker,  our  fortitude  the  more  heroic,  because  of  the  impulses 
that  would  thrill  our  veins  from  the  beatings  of  that  revolution- 
ary heart.     Strike  out  the   idea  of  America  and  the  hope  of 
America  from  our  people,  and  a  great  portion  of  the  force  and 
enthusiasm  of  our  people  would   be  annihilated.     That  period 
of  our  national  fortunes  is  far  more  than  a  show  in  our  history; 
it  is  part  of  our  present  substance.     It  was  not  a  fact  of  the  past 
merely ;  it  is  a  force  of  our  national  cliarcter. 

The  most  mournful  sight  in   the  case  of  any  nation   is  the 
evident  destitution  of  any  great  political  sentiments  and  prin- 
ciples that  have  grown  for  centuries,  and  are  rooted  in  its  heads, 
habits,  and  hearts.     What  a  sad  thing  that,  on  the  intellectual 
and  moral  soil  of  France— beautiful,  enthusiastic  France,  whose 
genius  has  been  refining  for  ages  like  the  wine  its  own  vineyards 
distill — no  ideas  of  rights  and  constitutional  freedom  have  grown, 
that  could  not  be  pulled  up  in  a  night  by  a  dissolute  ruffiun, 
wearing  and  polluting  a  splendid  name!     Think   you  that  in 
England  or  here  any  cowardly  conspirator  could  weave  the  noose 
that  in  one  night  should  drag  down  the  form  and  the  sentiment 
of  Liberty  from  its  sacred  niche  in  the  popular  affections,  and 
the  next  day  make  the  people  themselves  applaud  that  it  was 


'   ■; 


I  J: 

1 


4  : 


I- 


548 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


done  so  well  ?  A  Bedouin  robber  might  as  well  try  to  lasso  and 
uproot  a  hickory-tree  that  had  toughened  its  roots  in  the  ground 
for  a  century.  Poor  France  was  overgrown  with  the  merest 
weedv  sentiments  of  liberty,  for  it  is  only  weeds  that  bayonets 
can  scratch  up. 

If  we  reflect  on  the  sources  of  national  power  and  prosperity, 
we  shall  soon  see  how  its  strength  rests  on  an  invisible  and  ideal 
base,   and    is    developed    out   of  mental    and    moral    resources. 
Little  Greece  resisted  the  flood  of  Persian  arms,  and  at  last  con- 
quered the  East,  because  there  was  more  vitality— more  courage, 
genius,  enthusiasm— in  her  people  than  in  the  swarming  myriads 
which   the   bulk  of  the   Persian  Empire  inclosed.     Rome,  too, 
rose  to  supreme  sway  by  the  despotic  influence  of  character,  not 
of  lei^ions.     When  Rome  fell  she  had  more  troops  and  fortifica- 
tions than  in  the  height  of  her  republican  supremacy,  but  she  had 
lost  her  real  and  invisible   strength,  that  of  temperance,  hardi- 
hood, valor,  moral  soundness ;  internal  dissension,  luxury,  and 
bad  government,   had   unnerved  her  hands;  and  therefore  her 
visible  defenses  of  battalions  and  armaments  were  nothing  but 
empty  shell  and  sliow.     The  British  dominion  is  supported  now 
by  the  strong  fibers  of  Saxon  wisdom  and  pride  that  run  through 
the  whole  extent  of  it.     It  is  those  that  knit  Calcutta  and  Aus- 
tralia, Gibraltar  and  Cape  Town,  to  London  and  Liverpool  and 
the  Parliament  House.^ 

The  national  character  is  the  ultimate  explanation,  and  the 
onlv  true  one,  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  a  people,  of  its  good 
or  bad  fortune.  This  truth,  simple  though  it  is,  is  hardly  yet 
recognized.  The  successes  and  reverses  of  a  people  do  not  depend 
on  their  form  of  government,  but  are  the  effect  of  their  institu- 
tions. Their  institutions  are  the  effect  of  their  manners  and 
their  creeds ;  their  manners  and  creeds  are   the  eflect  of  their 

1  King. 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


549 


character.  If  one  peo^de  is  industrious,  another  indolent;  if  the 
one  has  an  internal,  moral  religion,  and  the  other  an  external, 
sensuous  religion,  the  cause  is  to  be  looked  for  in  their  habitual 
mode  of  thinking  and  feeling— that  is  to  say,  in  their  character. 
.  .  .  It  is  usual  to  explain  the  histovy  of  a  people  by  their 
institutions,  which,  in  one  sense,  is  true,  though  institutions 
themselves  are  but  an  eifect.  In  the  social  and  political  order, 
effects  and  causes  are  not  presented  under  the  form  of  a  simple 
series,  as  in  the  physicaj  order;  we  rather  find  a  reciprocity  of 
action  between  them.  The  character  produces  the  institutions, 
and  they  in  turn  form  "he  character;  thus,  after  several  genera- 
tions, the  two  are  but  one,  the  institutions  are  but  the  character 
rendered  visible  and  permanent.^ 

Parties. —  Whatever  retards  a  spirit  of  inquiry,  is  favorable 
to  error.  Whatever  promotes  it,  is  favorable  to  truth.  But 
nothing  has  greater  tendency  to  obstruct  the  exercise  of  free 
inquiry  than  a  spirit  of  party.  There  is  in  all  sects  and 
parties  a  constant  fear  of  being  eclipsed.  It  becomes  a  point 
of  honor  with  the  leaders  of  parties  to  defend  and  support  their 
respctive  peculiarities  to  the  last,  and,  as  a  natural  sequence, 
to  shut  their  ears  against  all  the  pleas  by  whieh  they  may  be 
assailed.^ 

There  can  not  be  a  greater  judgment  befall  a  country  than 
such  a  dreadful  spirit  of  divison  as  rends  a  government  into  two 
distinct  people,  and  makes  them  greater  strangers  and  more 
averse  to  one  another  than  if  thev  were  actually  two  different 
nations.  The  effects  of  such  a  division  are  pernicious  to  the  last 
degree,  not  only  with  regard  to  those  advantages  which  thev 
give  the  common  enemy,  but  to  these  private  evils  which  they 
produce  in  the  heart  of  almost  every  particular  person.  This 
influence  is  very  fatal  both  to  men's  morals  and  their  under- 


» Ribot. 


2  Robert  Hall. 


M 


«  (i 


11 


'.   i 


I 


1^   m'> 


N    '   I 


550 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


standings;  it  sinks  the  virtue  of  a  nation,  and  not  only  so,  but 
destroys  even  common  sense. 

A  furious  party  spirit,  when  it  rages  in  its  full  violence,  exerts 
itself  in  civil  war  and  bloodslied,  and,  when  it  is  under  its 
greatest  restraints,  naturally  breaks  out  in  falsehood,  detraction, 
calumny,  and  a  partial  administration  of  justice.  In  a  word,  it 
fills  a  nation  with  spleen  and  rancor,  and  extinguishes  all  the 
seeds  of  good  nature,  compassion,  and  humanity.^ 

It  is  possible,  of  course,  that  two  equally  patriotic  men  may 
differ  widely  in  their  views  of  public  policy — so  widely  that 
their  opinions  may  furnish  a  legitimate  basis  for  opposite  polit- 
ical parties.  Theoretically,  therefore,  political  parties  have  legit- 
imate ground  to  stand  upon,  but  practically  they  are  a  curse  to 
the  country.  For  the  love  of  party  has  always  usurped  the 
place  of  the  love  of  country.  Everything,  on  every  side,  is 
done  in  the  name  of  patriotism,  of  course;  but  patriotism  is 
made  subservient  to,  and  is  confounded  with,  party  interest. 
Men  foriret  "  our  country  ''  in  their  mad  devotion  to  ^'  our  side.'^ 
It  has  always  been  so  ;  I  fear  it  will  always  be  so.  History 
makes  a  uniform  record  of  the  fact  that,  however  pure  the  birth 
of  a  party  may  be,  and  however  patriotic  may  be  the  motives 
of  the  i)eople  who  sustain  it,  it  passes  early  into  the  hands  of 
designing  men,  whose  supremely  selfish  love  of  power  controls 
its  action  and  directs  its  issues,  solely  for  personal  and  party 
advantage.^ 

\ye  are  nowise  qualified  to  judge  of  monarchy,  which,  to  our 
fathers  living  in  the  monarchical  idea,  was  also  relatively  right. 
But  our  institutions,  though  in  coincidence  with  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  have  not  any  exemption  from  the  practical  defects  which 
•have  discredited  other  forms.  Every  actual  State  is  corrupt. 
Good  men  must  not  obey  the  laws  too  well.     What  satire  on 


1  Addison. 


2  Holland. 


i     ! 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


551 


government  can  equal  the  severity  of  censure  conveyed  in  the 
word  po/i7ic,  which  now  for  ages  has  signified  cunning,  intimating 
that  the  State  is  a  trick  ? 

The  same  benign  necessity  and  the  same  practical  abuse  appear 
in  the  parties  into  which  each  State  diyidcs  itself,  of  opponents 
and  defenders  of  the  administration  of  the  government.     Par- 
ties are  always  founded  on  instincts,  and  have  better  guides  to 
their  own  humble  aims  than  the  sagacity  of  their  leaders.     They 
have  nothing  perverse  in  their  origin,  but  rudely  mark  some  real 
and  lasting  relation.     We  might  as  wisely  reprove  the  east  wind, 
or  the  frost,  as  a  political  party  whose  members,  for  the  most 
part,  could  give  no  account  of  their  position,  but  stand  for  the 
defense  of  those  interests  in  which  they  find  themselyes.     Our 
quarrel   with    them    begins  when   they   quit   this    deep   natural 
ground  at  the  bidding  of  some  leader,  and,  obeying  personal 
considerations,  throw  themselyes  into  the  maintenance  and  de- 
fense of  points  nowise  belonging  to  their  system.     A  i)arty  is 
perpetually  corrupted   by  personality.     Whilst  we  absolye  the 
association  from  dishonesty,  we  can  not  extend  the  same  charity 
to  their  leaders.     They  reap  the  rewards  of  the  docility  and  zeal 
of  the  masses  which  they  direct.     Ordinarily,  our  parties  are 
parties  of  circumstance,  and  not  of  principle — as,  the  planting 
interest  in  conflict  with  the  commercial;  the  party  of  capitalists, 
and  that  of  operatiyes;  parties  which  are  identical  in  their  moral 
character,  and  which  can  easily  change  ground  with  each  other 
in  the  support  of  many  of  their  measures.     Parties  of  principle — 
as,  religious  sects,  or  the  party  of  free  trade,  of  universal  suf- 
frage, of  abolition  of  slavery,  of  abolition  of  capital  punish- 
ment— degenerate  into  })ersonalities,  or  would  inspire  enthusiasm. 
The  vice  of  our  leading  parties  in  this  country  (\yhich  may  be 
cited  as  a  fair  specimen  of  these  societies  of  opinion)  is,  that  they 


u 


'I 

-    } 


f' 


i!-! 


ii  ■ 


i. 


552 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


do  not  plant  themselves  on  the  deep  and  necessary  grounds  to 
which  they  arc  respectively  entitled,  but  lash  tliemselves  to  fury 
in  the  carrying  of  some  local  and  momentary  measure  nowise 
useful  to  the  commonwealth.  Of  the  two  great  parties  which  at 
this  hour  almost  share  the  nation  between  them,  I  should  say 
that  one  has  the  best  cause,  and  the  other  contains  the  best  men. 
The  philosopher,  the  poet,  or  the  religious  man  w^ill,  of  course, 
wish  to  cast  his  vote  with  the  democrat,  for  free  trade,  for  wide 
suffrage,  for  the  abolition  of  legal  cruelties  in  the  penal  code, 
and  for  facilitating  in  every  manner  the  access  of  the  young  and 
the  poor  to  the  sources  of  wealth  and  power.  But  he  can  rarely 
accept  the  persons  whom  the  so-called  popular  party  propose  to 
him  as  representatives  of  these  liberalities.  They  have  not  at 
heart  the  ends  which  give  to  the  name  of  democracy  wdiat  hope 
and  virtue  are  in  it.  The  spirit  of  our  American  radicalism  is 
destructive  and  aimless;  it  is  not  loving;  it  has  no  ulterior  and 
divine  ends  ;  but  is  destructive  onlv  out  of  hatred  and  selfishness. 
On  the  other  side,  tlie  conservative  party,  composed  of  the  most 
moderate,  able,  and  cultivated  part  of  the  population,  is  timid,  and 
merely  defensive  of  property.  It  vindicates  no  right,  it  aspires  to 
no  real  good,  it  brands  no  crime,  it  proposes  no  generous  policy,  it 
does  not  build  nor  w^rite,  nor  cherish  the  arts,  nor  foster  religion, 
nor  establish  schools,  nor  encourage  science,  nor  emancipate  the 
slave,  nor  befriend  the  poor,  or  the  Indian,  or  the  immigrant. 
From  neither  party,  when  in  power,  has  the  world  any  benefit  to 
expect  in  science,  art,  or  humanity,  at  all  commensurate  with  the 
resources  of  the  nation.^ 

Politicians. — The  lowest  of  politicians  is  that  man  who  seeks 
to  gratify  an  invariable  selfishness  by  pretending  to  seek  the 
public  good.  For  a  profitable  popularity,  he  accommodates 
himself  to   all  opinions,  to  all  dispositions,  to  every  side,  and 


1  Emerson. 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


553 


I    ! 
P    I  I 


to  each  prejudice.     He  is  a  mirror,  with  no  face  of  its  own, 
but  a  smooth   surface  from  which  each   man  of  ten   thousand 
may  see  himself  reflected.     He  glides  from  man  to  man,  coin- 
ciding with  their  views,  pretending  their  feelings,   simulating 
their  tastes :    with  this  one  he  hates  a  man ;  with  that  one  he 
oves  the  same  man;   he   favors  a  law,  and  he  dislikes  it;   he 
approves,  and  opposes ;  he  is  on  both  sides  at  once,  and  seem- 
ingly wishes  that  he  could  be  on  one  side  more  than  both  sides. 
He  attends  meetings  to  suppress  intemperance,  but  at  elections 
makes  every  grog-shop  free  to  all  drinkers.     He  can,  with  equal 
relish,  plead  most  eloquently  for  temperance,  or  toss  off  a  dozen 
glasses  in  a  dirty  grocery.     He  thinks  that  there  is  a  time  for 
everything,  and  therefore  at  one  time  he  swears  and  jeers  and 
leers  w^ith  a  carousing  crew ;  and  at  another  time,  having  happily 
been  converted,  he  displays  the  various  features  of  devotion. 
Indeed,  he  is  a  capacious  Christian,  an  epitome  of  faith.     He 
piously  asks  the  class-leader  of  the  welfare  of  his  charge,  for  he 
was  always  a  Methodist,  and  always  shall  be — until  he  meets  a 
Presbyterian ;  then  he  is  a  Presbyterian,  old  school  or  new,  as 
the  case  requires.     However,  as  he  is  not  a  bigot,  he  can  afford 
to  be  a  Baptist  in  a  good  Baptist  neighborhood,  and  with  a  wink 
he  tells  the  zealous  elder  that  he  never  had  one  of  his  children 
baptized,  not  he !     He  whispers  to  the  reformer  that  he  abhors 
all  creeds  but  baptism  and  the  Bible.     After  all  this,  room  will  be 
found  in  his  heart  for  the  fugitive  sects  also,  which  come  and  go 
like  clouds  in  a  summer  sky.     His  flattering  attention  at  church 
edifies  the  simple-hearted  preacher,  w^ho  admires  that  a  plain  ser- 
mon should  make  a  man  w^hisper  Amen,  and  weep.     Upon  the 
stump,  his  tack  is  no  less  rare.     He  roars  and  bawls  with  cour- 
ageous plainness  on  points  about  which  all  agree ;  but  on  sub- 
jects where  men  difler,  his  meaning  is  nicely  balanced  on  a  pivot, 


4     i 


.."  i 


554 


MAN    AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


that  it  may  dip  either  way.  lie  depends  for  success  chiefly  upon 
humorous  stories.  A  glowing  patriot  a-telling  stories  is  a  dan- 
gerous antagonist ;  for  it  is  hard  to  expose  the  fallacy  of  a  hearty 
lau""li,  and  men  convulsed  with  merriment  are  slow  to  perceive 
in  what  way  an  argument  is  a  reply  to  a  story. 

Perseverance,  effrontery,  good-nature,  and  versatile  cunning 
have  advanced  many  a  bad  man  higher  than  a  good  man  could 
attain.  Men  will  admit  that  he  has  not  a  single  moral  virtue; 
but  he  is  smart.  ^Va  object  to  no  man  for  amusing  himself  at 
the  fertile  resources  of  the  politician  here  painted ;  for  sober 
men  are  sometimes  pleased  with  the  grimaces  and  mischievous 
tricks  of  a  versatile  monkey ;  but  would  it  not  be  strange  indeed 
if  tliev  should  select  him  for  a  ruler,  or  make  him  an  exemplar 
to  their  sons  ? 

I  describe  next  a  more  respectable  and  more  dangerous  poli- 
tician—the Party  Man.  He  has  associated  his  ambition, 
his  interests,  and  his  affections  with  a  party.  He  prefers,  doubt- 
less, that  his  side  should  be  victorious  by  the  best  means,  and 
under  the  championship  of  good  men ;  but  rather  than  lose  the 
victorv,  he  will  consent  to  any  means,  and  follow  any  man. 
Thus,  with  a  general  desire  to  be  upright,  the  exigency  of  his 
party  constantly  pushes  him  to  dishonorable  deeds.  He  opposes 
fraud  by  craft,  lie  by  lie,  slander  by  counter-aspersion.  To  be 
sure,  it  is  wrong  to  misstate,  to  distort,  to  suppress  or  color  facts; 
it  is  wrong  to  employ  the  evil  passions;  to  set  class  against  class 
— the  poor  against  the  rich,  the  country  against  the  city,  the 
farmer  a^^ainst  the  mechanic,  one  section  against  another  section. 
But  his  opponents  do  it,  and  if  they  will  take  advantage  of  men's 
corruption,  he  must,  or  lose  by  his  virtue.  He  gradually  adopts 
two  characters,  a  personal  and  a  political  character.  All  the 
requisitions  of  his  conscience  he  obeys  in  his  private  character; 


political  aspects. 


555 


all  the  requisitions  of  his  party  he  obeys  in  his  political  con- 
duct. In  one  character  he  is  a  man  of  principle ;  in  the  other, 
a  man  of  mere  expedients.  As  a  maUy  he  means  to  be  veracious, 
honest,  moral ;  as  a  jjolitician^  he  is  deceitful,  cunning,  unscru- 
pulous— anything  for  party.  As  a  man,  he  abhors  the  slimy 
demagogue;  as  a  politician,  he  employs  him  as  a  scavenger.  As 
a  man,  he  shrinks  from  the  flagitiousness  of  slander;  as  a  poli- 
tician, he  permits  it,  smiles  upon  it  in  others,  rejoices  in  the 
success  gained  by  it.  As  a  man,  he  respects  no  one  who  is  rotten 
in  heart ;  as  a  politician,  no  man  through  whom  victory  may  be 
gained  can  be  too  bad.  As  a  citizen,  he  is  an  apostle  of  temper- 
ance; as  a  politician,  he  puts  his  shoulder  under  the  men  who 
deluge  their  track  with  whisky,  marching  a  crew  of  brawling 
patriots,  pugnaciously  drunk,  to  exercise  the  freeman's  noblest 
franchise,  the  vote.  As  a  citizen,  he  is  considerate  of  the  youug, 
and  counsels  them  with  admirable  wisdom ;  then,  as  a  politician, 
he  votes  for  tools,  supporting  for  the  magistracy  Avorshipful 
aspirants  scraped  from  the  ditch,  the  grog-shop,  and  the  brothel; 
thus  saying  by  deeds,  which  the  young  are  quick  to  understand, 
"  I  jested,  when  I  warned  you  of  bad  company,  for  you  perceive 
none  worse  than  those  whom  I  delight  to  honor.''  For  his 
religion,  he  will  give  up  all  his  secular  interests;  but  for  his 
politics,  he  gives  up  even  his  religion.  He  adores  virtue,  and 
rewards  vice.  Whilst  bolstering  up  unrighteous  measures,  and 
more  unrighteous  men,  he  prays  for  the  advancement  of  religion 
and  justice  and  honor  !  I  would  to  God  that  his  prayer  might  be 
answered  upon  his  own  political  head  ;  for  never  was  there  a 
place  where  such  blessings  were  more  needed  !  I  am  puzzled  to 
know  what  will  happen  at  death  to  this  politic  Christian,  but 
most  unchristian  politician.  Will  both  of  his  characters  go 
heavenward  together?     If  the  strongest  prevails,  he  will  cer- 


!■'  J, 


:i 


556 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


tainly  go  to  hell.  If  his  weakest  (which  is  his  Christian  charac- 
ter) is  saved,  what  will  become  of  his  political  character?  Shall 
he  be  sundered  in  two,  as  Solomon  proposed  to  divide  the  con- 
tested infant  ?  If  this  style  of  character  were  not  flagitiously 
wicked,  it  would  still  be  supremely  ridiculous ;  but  it  is  both. 
Let  young  men  mark  these  amphibious  exemplars  to  avoid  their 
influence.  The  young  have  nothing  to  gain  from  those  who  are 
saints  in  religion  and  morals,  and  Machiavels  in  politics ;  who 
have  partitioned  off  their  heart,  invited  Christ  into  one  half  and 
Belial  into  the  other.^ 

We  do  not  doubt  that  many  thousands  have  shared  with  us 
the  pleasure  of  reading  Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid's  Dartmouth  address 
on  "  The  Scholar  in  Politics."  The  programme  of  active  influ- 
ence which  he  spreads  before  the  American  scholar  is  sufficiently 
extensive,  and  the  arjruments  bv  which  he  commends  it  for 
adoption  is  sufficiently  strong  and  sound.  Yet  the  question  has 
occurred  to  us  whether,  after  all,  Mr.  Carlyle's  "  Able  Man,'' 
and  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  "Thinker,"  and  Mr.  Eeid's 
*^  Scholar,"  who  are  one  and  the  same  person,  are  quite  sufficient 
for  the  just  and  satisfactory  handling  of  the  matters  which  this 
address  spreads  before  us  in  detail.  "How  are  you  going  to 
punish  crime?"  We  do  not  quite  see  what  scholarship  has  to 
do  w^ith  the  settlement  of  that  question,  or  what  the  scholar  has 
to  do  with  it,  especially,  beyond  other  men.  "  How  are  you 
going  to  stop  official  stealing?"  The  question  may  interest  the 
scholar,  and  he  ought,  indeed,  to  assist  in  settling  it  aright ;  but 
as  a  scholar,  especially,  we  do  not  see  what  he  can  do,  or  may 
be  expected  to  do,  beyond  other  men.  "  How  are  you  going  to 
control  your  corporations?"  Here  cultivated  brains  may  help 
us  to  do  something — to  contrive  something;  yet,  after  all,  what 
we  want  is  not  the  way  to  control  corporations,  but  corporations 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


557 


that  do  not  need  to  be  controlled.     "What  shall  be  the  relations 
between  capital  and  labor?"     The  scholar  ought  to  be  able  to 
help  us  here.    "What  shall  be  done  with  our  Indians?"    "How 
may  we  best  appoint  our  civil  officers?"     These  questions,  with 
others  relating  to  universal  suffrage  and  the  unlimited  annexa- 
tion of  inferior  races,  make  up  Mr.  E-eid's  very  solid  and  serious 
catalogue.     .     .     .     What  we  really  w^ant  is  gentlemen  in  poli- 
tics.    If  our  political  men  were  only  gentlemen,  even  if  they 
were  no  more  than  ordinarily   intelligent,  we  should  find  our 
political  affairs  in  a  good  condition,  and  the  great  questions  that 
stand  before  us  in  a  fair  way  of  being  properly  adjusted.     A 
gentleman  is  a  person  who  knows  something  of  the  world,  who 
possesses  dignity  and  self-respect,  who  recognizes  the  rights  of 
others  and  the  duties  he  owes  to  society  in  all  his  relations,  who 
would  as  soon  commit  suicide  as  stain  his  palm  with  a  bribe, 
who  would  not  degrade  himself  by  intrigues.     There  are  various 
types  of  gentlemen,  too;  and  the  higher  the  type,  the  better  the 
politician.     If  his  character  and   conduct  are   based   on  sound 
moral  principle — if  he  is  governed  by  the  rule  of  right — that  is 
better  than  mere  pride  of  character  or  gentlemanly  instinct.     If, 
beyond  all,  he  is  a  man  of  faith  and  religion — a  Christian  gen- 
tleman— he  is  the  highest  type  of  a  gentleman;  and  in  his  hands 
the  questions  which  Mr.  Ileid  has  proposed  to  the  scholar  would 
have  the  fairest  handling  that  men  are  capable  of  giving  them. 
The  more  the  Christian  gentleman  knows,  the  better  politician 
he  will  make;  and  in  him,  and  in   him  only,  will  scholarship 
come  to  its  finest  issues  in  politics.     We  do  not  think  that  the 
worst  feature  of  our  politics  is  lack  of  intelligence  in  our  politi- 
cians.    There  is  a  great  deal  of  cultivated  brain  in  Congress. 
Public  questions  are  understood  and  intelligently  discussed  there. 
Even   there   it   is  not  always  that  scholarship   shows   superior 


I-  f 


1  Beecher. 


558 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


ability.  Men  who  show  their  capacity  to  manage  affairs  are 
quite  as  apt  to  come  from  the  plainly  educated  as  from  the  ranks 
of  scholarship.  Congress  does  not  suffer  from  lack  of  knowledge 
and  culture  half  as  much  as  it  does  from  lack  of  principle.  It  is 
the  men  who  push  personal  and  party  purposes  that  poison  legis- 
lation. If  Congress  were  composed  of  gentlemen,  we  could  even 
dispense  with  what  scholars  we  have,  and  be  better  off  than  we 
are  to-day.  .  .  .  Our  laws  are  good  enough  in  the  main:  we 
want  them  executed;  and,  in  order  that  they  may  be  executed, 
we  need  a  judiciary  of  Christian  gentlemen,  with  executive 
officers,  loyal  to  their  law.  As  long  as  notorious  scamps,  schol- 
arly or  otherwise,  are  in  jiowcr,  nut  much  headway  can  be  made 
in  politics.  Until  we  demand  something  more  and  something 
better  in  our  politicians  than  knowledge  or  scholarship,  until  we 
demand  that  they  shall  be  gentlemen,  we  shall  take  no  step  for- 
ward. George  Washington  got  along  very  well  as  a  politician 
on  a  limited  capital  of  culture,  and  a  very  large  one  of  patriot- 
ism and  pergonal  dignity.  Aaron  Burr  was  a  scholar,  whose  lack 
of  principle  spoiled  him  fur  any  good  end  in  politics,  and  made 
his  name  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  his  country.^ 

Statesmen. — A  largo  subject  in  connection  wuth  history  and 
life  opens  up  in  reference  to  statesmen  and  statesmanship.  Their 
lives  are  frauf::ht  with  larjjcr  influence  and  meaning  than  the 
lives  of  other  men  ;  they  connect  the  broad  events  and  tenden- 
cies  of  history  with  the  details  of  individual  life.  Many  of  the 
most  stirring  pages  of  history,  and  all  its  milder  and  more  grace- 
ful  passages,  belong  to  the  lives  of  the  great  men  who  have  lived 
and  made  history.  There  is  a  curious  theory  that  distinguished 
statesmen  are  but  the  "outcome"  of  their  time,  and  the  real  his- 
tory of  a  country  must  be  sought  in  the  masses  of  the  people. 
There  may  be  some  measure  of  truth  in  this  assertion  which  has 


n 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


559 


1  Holland. 


been  overlooked  by  some  regular  historians;  but  the  world  is 
pretty  well  agreed  that  the  great  men  who  have  stamped  their 
mark  upon  an  era  have  shaped  the  destinies  of  their  country, 
and  have  invisibly  influenced  the  course  of  subsequent  ages. 

Dr.  Johnson  intercalated  a  well-known  passage  in  Goldsmith^s 
*^  Traveller,'^  commencing  with  the  lines : 

How  small  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  kings  or  laws  can  cause  or  cure  1 

There  is  in  these  lines  that  general  amount  of  truth  and  error 
which  is  ordinarily  found  in  such  universal  propositions. 

In  the  Georgian  era  it  can  hardly  be  said  of  any  English 
statesman  that  he  caused  or  cured  many  human  ills,  except  in 
some  very  remote  way.  There  are,  however,  times  in  the  his- 
tory of  all  nations  when  good  or  bad  legislation  has  been  fraught 
with  far-reaching  consequences.  Some  moments  in  the  lives  of 
statesmen  have  really  been  the  deepest  moments  of  national  his- 
tory. The  hour  when  a  line  of  thought  and  observation  has 
conducted  a  statesman's  mind  to  some  course  of  practical  action 
beyond  battle  or  treaty  is  a  landmark  in  a  people's  history.  No 
events  loom  larger  in  Athenian  story  than  the  Constitution  of 
Solon  or  the  Coubtitution  of  Cleisthenes.  To  use  Dr.  Arnold's 
phrase,  we  draw  no  distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  his- 
tory, except  that  ancient  history  is,  in  a  sense,  much  more  truly 
modern  than  much  which  we  call  modern  history.  That  is, 
indeed,  a  happy  destiny,  *'  To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
and  read  his  history  in  a  nation's  eyes."  xVt  the  same  time  there 
is  an  infinite  amount  of  truth  in  Johnson's  lines.  Nothing  is 
more  important  than  that  people  should  understand  what  states- 
men are  and  what  they  are  not  able  to  do.  Individual  life  is 
the  ultimate  fact  in   all  politics.     The  great  men  of  any  era  are 


560 


MAN   AND    HIS   RELATIONS. 


unable  to  confer  upon  a  man  the  n)asteiy  over  his  passions  and 
the  harmonious  development  of  his  complex  nature.  They  can 
only  put  him  under  general  conditions  favorable  forliis  progress. 
They  can  not  enlighten  his  conscience,  soothe  his  grief,  or  take 
away  his  poverty.  They  can  provide  him  with  a  sphere  for  the 
exercise  of  his  powers,  but  they  can  only  do  tliis  in  proportion 
as  ^' self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control,''  can  make  him 
fit  for  political  life.  The  great  defect  of  all  revolutions  has  been 
that  peo[)le  have  sought  from  governments  what  governments 
can  not  give,  but  what  they  might  have  found  in  themselves. 
The  lives  of  statesmen  may  demonstrate  conclusively  the  com- 
parative narrowness  of  the  limits  in  which  they  must  work. 
They  show,  also,  the  comparative  unimportance  of  the  forms  of 
institutions,  but  the  supreme  importance  of  the  brightness,  spirit, 
and  purity  that  should  animate  them.  The  statesmen  who  really 
shine  brightest  in  liistory  are  those  who  have  developed  both  the 
resources  and  the  spirit  of  a  nation;  who  have  attended  to  mate- 
rial interests,  but  liave  not  allowed  material  interests  to  dwarf 
the  patriotism  and  intelligence  of  the  people.  The  lives  of  states- 
men have  always  been  a  source  of  the  deepest  interest,  through 
the  knowledge  that  their  lives  have  influenced  so  many  lives, 
that  they,  through  their  action  on  their  country,  are  brought  not 
remotelv  into  direct  connection  with  ourselves.^ 

True  statesmanship  is  the  art  of  changing  a  nation  from  what 
it  is  into  what  it  ouiijht  to  be.^ 

'The  first  quality  of  statesmanship  is  moral.  The  statesman 
needs,  first  of  all,  that  he  himself  be  upright.  A  good  will,  clear 
and  firm,  is  his  best  endowment.  He  needs,  of  course,  high  gifts 
of  intellect — understanding  of  his  times,  like  the  men  of  Issa- 
char,  that  he  may  know  what  the  people  ought  to  do  ;  and  we 
may,  i>erhaps,  conceive  of  a  man  so  well  endowed  with  intellect, 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


561 


1  Rev.  F.  Arnold. 


Alger. 


SO  far-sighted,  that  he  could  see  the  wisdom  for  a  government 
of  a  moral   attitude  which  he   has   never  taken  for  himself— as 
Goethe,  great  genius  that  he  was,  discerned  and  accurately  de- 
scribed experiences  of  which  he  was  never  conscious;  but  such 
geniuses  are  very  rare,  and  even  when  found  we  are  painfully 
conscious— as  when  we  comi)are  Goethe  with  Shakespeare— of 
the  imperfection  of  the  broadest  and  the  deepest  intellect  unin- 
structed  by  the  inspiration  of  an  all-controlling  moral  purpose. 
If  there  be  a  strong   intellect,  there  is  nothing  like  a  will  cen- 
tered on  the  right,  to  steady  and  clarify  its  vision.     Only  he 
who   is  truly  willing  to  do  what  is  right  can  truly  know  what 
is  right. ^ 

A  politician  thinks  of  the  next  election;  a  statesman  of  the 
next  generation.  A  politician  looks  for  the  success  of  his  party ; 
a  statesman  fi,r  that  of  the  country.  The  statesman  wishes  to 
steer,  while  the  politician  is  satisfied  to  drift.^ 

The  Baxe  of  the  Republic— There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  prolific  source  of  all  our  notable  political  corruption  is  office- 
seeking.     Almost  never  does  a  political  office  come  to  a  man  in 
this  country  unsought ;  and  the  exceptions  are  very  rarely  cred- 
itable to  political  purity.     When  men  are  sought  for,  and  adopted 
as  candidates  for  office,  it  is,  ninety-nine  times  in  every  hundred, 
because  they  are  available  for  the  objects  of  a  i)arty.     Thus  it  is 
that  selfish  or  party  interest,  and  not  the  public  good,  becomes 
the  ruling  motive  in  all  political  preferment;  and  the  results  are 
the  legitimate  fruit  of  the  motive.     Out  of  this  motive  spring  all 
the  intrigues,  bargains,  sales  of  influence  and  patronage,  briberies, 
corruptions,  and  crookednesses  that  make  our  politics  a  reproach 
and  our  institutions  a  by-word  among  the  nations.     We  are  in 
the  habit  of  calling  our  government  popular,  and  of  fancying 
that  we  have  a  good  deal  to  do  in  the  management  of  our  own 


37 


1  J.  H.  Seelye.  «  J.  F.  Clarke. 


562 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


affairs,  but  we  would  like  to  ask  tlios3  who  may  chance  to  read 
this  paper  how  much,  beyond  the  easting  of  their  votes,  they 
have  ever  had  to  do  with  the  government  of  the  nation?  Have 
they  ever  done  more  than  to  vote  for  those  who  have  managed 
to  get  themselves  selected  as  candidates  for  office,  or  those  who, 
for  party  reasons,  determined  exclusively  by  party  leaders— 
themselves  seekers  for  power  or  plunder — have  been  selected  by 
others?  It  is  all  a  "  Ring/'  and  has  been  for  years,  and  we,  the 
people,  are  called  upon  to  indorse  and  sustain  it. 

To  indorse  and  sustain  the  various  political  rings  is  the  whole 
extent,  practically,  of  the  political  privileges  of  the  people  of  the 
United  States.     The  flict  is  abominable  and  shameful,  but  it  is  a 
fact  ''  which  nobody  can  deny.''     It  humiliates  one  to  make  the 
confession,  but  it  is  true  that  very  rarely  is  any  man  nominated 
for  a  high  office  who  is  so  much  above  reproach  and  so  mani- 
festly the  choice  of  the  people  that  his  sworn  supporters  do  not 
feel  compelled  to  sustain  him  by  lies  and  romances  and  all  sorts 
of  humbuggery.     The  people  are  treated  like  children.     Songs 
are  made  for  them  to  sing.     Their  eyes  are  dazzled  with  banners 
and  processions,  and  every  possible  effort  is  made  to  induce  them 
to  believe  that  the  candidiite  is  precisely  what  he  is  not  and  never 
^vas— the  candidate  of  the  people.     Our  candidates  are  all  the 
candidates  of  the  politicians,  and  never  those  of  the  people.    Our 
choice  is  a  choice  between  evils,  and  to  this  we  are  forced.     Sec- 
ond and  tliird-rate  men,  dangerous  men,  men  devoured  by  the 
greed  for  power  and  place,  men  without  experience  in  statesman- 
ship, men  who  have  made  their  private  pledges  of  consideration 
for  services  promised,  men  who  have  selected  themselves,  or  who 
have  been  selected  entirely  because  they  can  be  used,  are  placed 
before  us  for  our  suffrages,  and  we  are  compelled  to  a  choice 
between  them.     Thus,  year  after  year,  doing  the  best  we  seem  to 


;  f 


POLITICAL  ASPECTS. 


563 


be  able  to  do,  we  are  used  in  the  interest  of  men  and  cliques  who 
have  no  interest  to  serve  but  their  own. 

And  all  this  in  the  face  of  the  patent  truth  that  an  office-seeker 
.is,  by  the  very  vice  of  his  nature,  character,  and  position,  the 
man  who  ought  to  be  avoided,  and  never  indorsed  or  favored. 
There  is  something  in  the  greed  itself,  and  more  in  the  immod- 
esty of  its  declaration  in  any  form,  which  make  him  the  legiti- 
mate object  of  distrust  and  popular  contempt.     Office-seeking  is 
not  the  calling  of  a  gentleman.     Xo  man  with  self-respect  tnd 
the  modesty  that  accompanies  real  excellence  of  character  and 
genuine  sensibility  can  possibly  place  himself  in  the  position  of 
an  office-seeker,  and  enter  upon  the  intrigues  with  low-minded 
a:id  mercenary  men,  which  are  necessary  to  the  securing  of  his 
object.     It  is  a  debasing,  belittling,  ungentlemanly  business.     It 
takes  from  him  any  claim  to  popular  respect  which  a  life  of 
worthy  labor  may  have  won,  and  brands  him  as  a  man  of  vulgar 
instincts  and  weak  character.     We  marvel  at  the  corruptions ''of 
politics,  but  why  should  we  marvel  ?     It  is  the  office-seekers  who 
are  in  office.     It  is  the  men  who  have  sold  their  manhood  for 
power  that  we  have  assisted  to  place  there,  obeying  the  com- 
mands or  yielding  to  the  wishes  of  our  political  leaders.     It  is 
notorious  that  our  best  men  are  not  in  politics,  and  can  not  be 
induced  to  enter  the  -field,  and  that  our  political  rewards  and 
honors  are  bestowed  upon  those  who  are  base  enough  to  ask 
for  them. 

A  few  of  the  great  men  of  the  nation  have,  during  the  last  thirty 
years,  yielded  to  that  which  was  meanest  in  them,  and  become 
seekers  for  the  august  office  of  the  presidency.  Now  to  wish  for 
a  high  place  of  power  and  usefulness  is  a  worthy  ambition, 
especially  when  it  is  associated  with  those  gifts  and  that  culture 
which  accord  with  its  dignities  and  render  one  fit  for  its  duties; 


I 


t  i 


'-x. 


'-X. 


564 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS, 


but  to  ask  for  it,  and  intrigue  for  it,  and  shape  the  policy  of  a 
life  for  it,  is  the  lowest  depth  to  which  voluntary  degradation 
can  go.     These  men,  every  one  of  them,  have  come  out  from  the 
fruitless  chase  with  garments  draggled,  and  reputation  damaged, 
and  the  lesson  of  a  great  life— lived  faithfully  out  upon  its  own 
plane— forever  spoiled.      How  much   more   purely    would    the 
names  of  Webster,  and  Clay,  and  Cass  shine  to-day  had  they 
never  sought  for  the  highest  place  of  power ;  and  how  insane  are 
those  great  men  now  living  who  insist  on  repeating  their  mis- 
takes!    It  would  be  ungracious  to  write  the  names  of  these,  and 
It  is  a  sad  reflection  that  it  is  not  necessary.    They  rise  as  quickly 
to  him  Avho  reads  as  to  him  who  writes.    The  great,  proud  names 
are  drao-ged  from  their  heights,  and  made  the  foot-balls  of  the 
political  arena.     The  lofty  heads  are  bowed,  and  the  pure  vest- 
ments are  stained.     Never  again,  while  time  lasts,  can  they  stand 
where  they  have  stood.     They  have  made  voluntary  exposure  of 
their  weakness,  and  dropped  into  fatal  depths  of  popular  con- 
tempt.    Now,  when  we  remember  that  w^e  are  ruled  mainly  by 
men  who  dlifer  from  these  only  in  the  fact  that  they  are  smaller, 
and  have  not  fallen  so  far  because  they  had  not  so  far  to  fall,  we 
can  realize  something  of  the  degradation  Avhich  we  have  ourselves 
received  in  placing  them  in  power. 

What  is  our  remedy?  We  confess  that  we  are  well-nigh 
hopeless  in  the  matter.  Bread  and  butter  are  vigilant.  Politics 
to  the  politician  is  bread  and  butter,  and  we  are  all  so  busy  in 
winning  our  own  that  we  do  not  take  the  time  to  w^atch  and 
thwart  his  intrigues.  The  only  remedy  thus  far  resorted  to— 
and  that  has  always  been  temporary— is  a  great  uprising  against 
corruption  and  wrong.  We  have  seen  something  of  it  in  the 
popular  protest  against  the  thieves  of  the  New  York  King. 
What  we  need  more  than  anything  else,  perhaps,  is  a  thoroughly 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


565 


virtuous  and  independent  press.  We  believe  it  impossible  to 
work  effectually  except  through  party  organizations,  but  such 
should  be  the  intelligence,  virtue,  and  vigilance  of  the  press  and 
the  people  that  party  leaders  shall  be  careful  to  execute  the  party 
will.  We  need  nothing  to  make  our  government  the  best  of  all 
governments,  except  to  take  it  out  of  the  hands  of  self-seeking 
and  office-seeking  politicians,  and  to  place  in  power  those  whom 
the  people  regard  as  their  best  men.  Until  this  can  be  done, 
place  will  bring  personal  honor  to  no  man,  and  our  republican- 
ism will  be  as  contemptible  among  the  nations  as  it  is  unworthy 
in  itself.^ 

Free  TpvADE  or  Protection. — Free  trade  means  the  perr- 
fectly  free  exchange  of  goods,  raw  and  manufactured,  in  every 
part  of  the  world,  or  it  means  nothing  at  all :  it  means  that  all 
nations  and  languages,  all  consumers  and  producers  all  over  the 
world,  must  agree  to  be  guided  by  the  same  laws,  and  buy  and 
sell  without  restriction. 

These  conditions  are  necessary  to  the  existence  of  Free  trade  ; 
without  them  it  is  impossible:  unfortunately  they  have  never 
been  tried,  and  most  probably  never  will.  ...  To  try  the 
experiment  at  all,  other  nations  must  be  found  to  join  us ;  to 
know  what  the  result  of  Free  trade  actually  was  there  must  be 
reciprocity  and  Free  ports ;  but  as  no  other  nation  joined  us, 
we  never  had  either  one  or  the  other:  as  we  advanced  they  drew 
back :  consequently  the  experiment  has  never  been  tried,  and  we 
know  to-day  as  little  of  Free  trade,  strictly  speaking,  as  we  did 
twenty  years  ago.  It  is  amusing  to  hear  people  expatiating  on 
the  marvels  of  Free  trade,  and  on  the  blessings  it  has  conferred 
on  the  human  race  in  general,  and  ourselves  in  particular,  when 
Ave  remember  that  as  yet  this  policy  has  never  even  been  tried, 
that  its  miracles   and  blessings  are  still  in  the  womb  of  the 

1  Holland. 


I- 


:  II 
.  It 


5G6 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


future.     Free  traders  renounce  all  logic  and  facts  when  discuss- 
ing their  favorite  dogma ;  they  are,  indeed,  the  most  disingenu- 
ous of  arguers.     I  declare,  that  as  constantly  as  I  have  heard 
the  subject  discussed,  I  never  once  heard  a  Free-trader  have  the 
honestv  to  attribute  the  increased  trade  of  the  world  in  general, 
and   of  England  as  part  of  it,  to  its  true  cause— viz.,  the  vast 
increase  in  the  circulating  medium  and  the  general  appliciation 
of  steam,  but  always  to  what  they  chose  to  call  Free  trade ;  to 
ignore  these  illimitable  agencies,  and  to  ascribe  all  progress  to 
the  pigmy  eiforts  of  a  small  school  of  Political  Economists  in 
Encrland,  is  to  reverse  the  old  proverb  and  to  imagine  the  mouse 
brinn-incr  forth  the  mountain.     ...     It  is  not  England  alone 
that  has  increased  her  trade  during  the  last  twenty  years ;  the 
whole  of  Europe  and  America,  with   some  trifling  exceptions, 
have    increased    theirs    fl\r    more    rapidly   than   we    have:   take 
France,  for  instance,  as  being  our  nearest  neighbor,  and  compare 
her  wealth  and  commercial  postion  now  with  what  it  was  twenty 
vears  a^-o,  and  it  will  at  once  be  granted  that,  however  great  may 
be  the  blessings  of  Free  trade,  sound  progress  is  not  incom- 
patible with  the  strictest  protection.     .     .     .     All  the  nations 
of  the  world   have  incn-eased  their  commerce,  they  under  the 
strictest  principle  of  Protection,  we  alone  under  what  we  call 
Free  trade.     To  attribute  our  progress  to  Free  trade  is  just  as 
absurd  as  to  attribute  theirs  to  Protection.     It  might  be  more 
fairly  said  w^e  have  all  progressed  in  spite  of  both.     .     .     . 

When  we  look  back  twenty  years,  and  examine  the  position 
England  then  occupied  in  nearly  all  manufacturing  industries; 
the  exclusive  advantages  of  capital,  of  energy,  of  manufacturing 
and  technical  knowledge  she  then  possessed,  and  compare  her 
position  now,  w'e  shall  see  at  once  that  many  nations  have  ad- 
vanced as  rapidly  again  as  she  has— they  were  all  hull  down  in 


ti ' 


POLITICAL    ASPECTS. 


567 


the  manufacturing  race  twenty  years  ago;  they  have  steadily 
overhauled  us;  some  are  close  under  our  sterns;  some  are  along- 
side, and  some  are  alreadv  showino;  us  their  sterns. 

The  vessels  have  'oeen  sailed  on  perfectly  opposite  principles : 
we  have  made  England  a  vast  free  port:  we  liave  thrown  open 
our  home  markets  to  the  world :  we  hive  invited  forei<rners  to 
compete  with  our  own  industrial  population  in  our  own  markets: 
we  have  encouraged  them  in  every  possible  w^ay  :  removed  cverv 
restriction  that  could  possibly  be  considered  as  showing  anv 
remaining  preference  for  our  own  operatives  :  anything  the  for- 
eigners asked,  we  immediately  granted,  even  to  half  our  manu- 
facturing kingdom:  we  have  steadily  and  conscientiously  tried, 
during  the  last  twenty  years,  to  put  the  foreign  manufacturers 
and  operatives  on  a  2)erfect  equality  with  our  own  in  our  home 
markets,  and  Heaven  knows  we  have  succeeded  in  doing  so ! 
We  proposed  to  put  them  in  as  good  a  position  as  our  own  work- 
people :  we  have  put  them  in  a  better  position. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  whole  of  Europe  and  America  have 
acted  on  the  very  op{)osite  principle — they  have  strictly  preserved 
a  preferential  labor  market  f  )r  their  own  industrial  population  : 
tliey  have  nursed  and  fostered  and  protected  their  native  indus- 
tries: they  have  religiously  excluded  equal  competition  in  every 
shape,  and  only  admit  under  heavy  duties  those  articles  of  for- 
eign manufacture  they  do  not  produce  themselves. 

No  two  policies  can  possibly  have  been  more  opposite,  more 
antagonistic  in  every  respect.  Yet,  to  a  certain  extent,  they 
have  been  attended  with  similar  results :  in  both  cases  commerce 
has  increased.  We  are  told  our  progress  is  entirely  the  result 
of  our  commercial  policy,  and  that  we  should  not  have  advanced 
if  we  had  conti:iued  under  Protection;  but  it  is  unreasonable  to 
ask  us  to  believe  that  the  commercial  conditions  of  England  are 


568 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


SO  different  from  those  of  the  rest  of  Europe  and  America,  that 
she  would  not  have  progressed  under  the  same  conditions  that 
have  been  so  favorable  to  them. 

Franco,  Belgium,  Switzerland,  Prussia,  and  America  have  in- 
increased  materially  in  wealth  and  prosperity  during  the  last 
twenty  years;  capital  has  flowed  steadily  and  with  increasing 
rapidity  into  them;  new  manufactures  have  sprung  up;  existing 
industries  have  increased;  trade  has  flourished;  speculation  and 
enterprise  have  taken  the  place  of  apathy  and  want  of  confidence. 
AH  this  has  taken  place  under  a  system  of  rigid  Protection. 
During  the  same  period  England,  under  a  half-and-half  system 
of  Free  trade,  has  also  increased  her  commerce,  but  not  in  any 
degree  in  the  same  proportion.  Our  industries  are  everywhere 
depressed ;  many  of  them  have  left  us,  or  are  fast  doing  so ; 
trade  and  manuflictures  that  we  once  monopolized  are  springing 
up  elsewhere  under  the  fostering  care  of  Protection.' 

Every  manufacture  encouraged  in  our  country  makes  a  market 
produce  within  ourselves,  and  saves  us  much  money  to  the  coun- 
try that  must  otherwise  be  exported  to  pay  for  the  manufacture 
supplied.  Here  in  England  it  is  well  known  and  understood 
that  wherever  a  manufacture  is  established  which  employs  a 
number  of  hands,  it  raises  the  value  of  land  in  the  neighboring 
country  all  around  it,  partly  by  the  greater  demand  near  at  hand 
for  the  produce  of  the  land,  and  partly  from  the  plenty  of 
money  drawn  by  the  manufacturer  to  that  part  of  the  country. 
It  seems,  therefore,  the  interest  of  our  farmers  and  owners  of 
land  to  encourage  our  manufactures  in  preference  to  foreign  ones 
imported  among  us  from  distant  countries.^ 

There  is  no  use  in  denying  the  plain  fact  that  the  States  have 
succeeded,  by  their  high-tariff  pdicy,  in  diverting  a  considerable 
part  of  the  industrial  energies  of  the  community  from  the  pur- 


POLITICAL    ASPECTS. 


569 


1  Sir  Edward  Sullivan,  Bart. 


i  Franklin. 


suits  natural  to,  and  most  profitable  in,  a  new  country,  to  the 
highly  artificial  and,  for  America,  mostly  very  expensive  indus- 
tries of  long-settled  and  civilized  nations.  Were  the  sheltering 
tariff  swept  away,  it  is  very  questionable  if  any,  save  a  few  spe- 
cial manufactures  of  certain  kinds  of  tools,  machinery,  railway 
cars,  and  fancy  goods,  and  a  few  of  the  cruder  manufactures, 
could  maintain  their  ground.' 

The  United  States  was  at  one  time  a  large  customer  for  our 
iron-ware  and  textile  fabrics ;  but  the  hostile  tariff  she  has 
info  reed  since  the  civil  war  has  nearly  driven  us  out  of  her 
markets,  and  has  built  up  a  vast  system  of  manufactures  which 
completely  supplies  her  own  wants  and  leaves  something  to 
spare  for  competition  with  us  in  foreign  markets.  The  free- 
traders of  this  country  console  themselves  by  thinking  that  she 
is  the  chief  sufferer;  but,  whether  this  be  so  or  not  (which  is 
very  doubtful),  the  fact  remains  that  her  markets  are  almost  lost 
to  us,  and  we,  on  the  other  hand,  are  constantly  more  dependent 
upon  her  for  food  and  raw  material.  For  this  we  have  no  means 
of  paying,  except  by  money  or  bonds,  or  indirectly  by  our  credits 
with  China,  Brazil,  and  other  countries  from  which  America 
imports  tea,  sugar,  etc.  Our  colonies  all  follow  in  the  wake  of 
the  United  States,  and  do  their  best  to  stimulate  their  own  man- 
ufactures by  closing  their  markets  against  ours.^ 

Why  should  w^e  turn  our  backs  upon  this  bountiful  provision 
of  mineral  wealth,  these  many  fields  of  enter])rise  opened  to  us, 
or  be  content  with  exercising  our  energies  in  a  few  fields  of  in- 
dustry, as  agriculture,  stock-raising,  and  petroleum-exploitation, 
leaving  our  natural  resources  undeveloped,  and  our  capacity  for 
diversified  industrial  pursuits  unexercised  ?  Must  we  not  rather 
provide  here  a  career  for  every  talent,  and  work  out  the  problem 
of  the  highest  civilization  obtainable  by  man  ?     An  American 

*  A.  J.  Wilson,  "  Resources  of  Foreign  Countries."  ^  Liverpool  Cotton  Circular. 


1  81 


:i 


570 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


should  not  have  a  word  to  say  for  free  trade  till  he  has  thor- 
oughly studied  the  resources  of  his  owu  country.  It  were  a 
disgrace  were  we  to  leave  undeveloped,  like  the  red  Indians,  the 
vast  resources  of  America  ;  and,  while  we  possess  the  gifts  of 
nature  in  greater  abundance  than  any  other  nation  on  earth,  go 
abroad  for  that  which,  by  industry,  we  may  produce  at  home?^ 

Our  country  has  had  a  larger  experience  in  the  matter  of  fiscal 
policies  than  any  other.  Nine  times  in  less  than  a  century  it  has 
shifted  from  protection  to  free  trade,  or  some  compromise  be- 
tween the  two,  and  back  again.  Now,  after  a  longer  persistence 
in  the  protective  policy  than  in  any  policy  previously,  it  is  asked 
to  abandon  it,  in  the  face  of  evidence  that  it  is  the  road  to 
national  wealth,  industrial  independence,  and  a  closer  union  of 
the  nation.  .  .  .  The  first  Congress,  consisting  largely  of 
the  authors  of  the  Constitution,  passed  a  law  to  levy  duties  on 
imports  "for  the  payment  of  the  debts  of  the  United  States,  and 
for  the  encouragement  of  American  manulacturos."  The  author 
of  that  bill  was  James  Madison,  the  expounder  of  the  Constitu- 
tion. The  free-trade  theory  was  urged  on  the  Constitutional 
Convention  by  a  club  of  gentlemen  who  had  imbibed  the  ideas 
of  the  French  physiocrats,  at  whose  feet  Adam  Smith  studied, 
but  it  met  with  no  support. 

That  a  countrv,  situated  as  was  America,  could  have  made  its 
beginning  as  a  manufacturing  nation  without  the  collective  action 
of  its  people  through  their  government,  is  a  supposition  contra- 
dicted by  uniform  experience.  At  that  time  the  state  of  the 
markets  was  such  that  England  and  France  stood  ready  to  sup- 
ply us  with  everything  except  the  rudest  articles,  at  a  price  with 
which  our  own  producers  could  not  compete.  Buying  in  the 
cheapest  market  as  a  fixed  policy  might  have  resulted  in  keeping 
America   on  the  industrial  level  of  Ireland,  Turkey,  and  India, 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


571 


to  the  neglect  of  the  natural  resources  for  manufactures  in  the 
])roducts  of  our  country  and  in  the  genius  of  our  people.  .  .  . 
Countries  that  have  large  classes  living  on  fixed  incomes  will 
have  many  free-traders.  In  America  we  may  say  of  this  class, 
De  minimis  non  curat  lex.  American  interest  lies  in  the  relation 
of  price  to  price.  A  man  complained  that  what  cost  but  a 
shilling  in  Ireland,  cost  a  dollar  in  America;  but  he  came  to 
America  because  he  could  get  the  dollar  more  easily  than  the 
#]iilling.  He  had  labor  to  sell,  as  we  all  have  something  to 
find  a  market  for.  We  all  are  the  better  for  a  policy  which,  if 
it  makes  things  a  little  dearer,  gives  us  a  chance  when  we  come 
to  sell.^ 

The  charge  is  persistently  made  that  protective  duties  benefit 
only  manufacturers,  and  enormously  tax  other  classes.  To  the 
fir.-t  charge  the  conclusive  reply  is  that  the  capital  invested  in 
manufiictures  pays  no  greater  profit  than  that  invested  in  other 
business.  To  the  second  charge  the  equally  satisfactorv  answer 
is,  that  the  establishment  of  manufacturing  industries  in  this 
country  has  increased  the  wages  of  labor  and  service  in  every 
department,  has  reduced  the  prices  of  all  manufactured  goods, 
and  has  added  to  the  prosperity  of  the  country.  There  is  not  a 
state  or  a  community  into  which  manufacturing  industries  have 
been  largely  introduced  that  has  not  at  once  felt  the  beneficial 
influence  of  the  new  order  of  things.  A  policy  that  produces 
these  results  is  not  a  tax  which  brings  burdens ;  it  is  an  invest- 
ment which  brings  large  returns ;  it  is  the  seed  sown  in  good 
ground  which  returns  a  hundred-fold. 

Protective  duties  work  out  these  results  bv  securing  the  intro- 
duction  of  new  industries  which  could  not  be  successfully  estab- 
lished in  this  country  if  foreign  goods  were  allowed  to  come  in 
free  of  duty,  or  on  the  payment  of  a  less  duty  than  the  increased 


r . 


1  N<yrth  American  Review, 


iJbid. 


572 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


cost  of  maiiufuctiire  here.  These  new  industries  make  a  new 
demand  for  kibor,  and,  in  drawing  working-men  from  other 
employments,  inevitably  increase  wages,  not  simply  in  the  new 
industries,  but  also  in  every  other  employment.  .  .  .  AVhile 
our  protective  policy  has  increased  the  wages  of  laborers  and  the 
rewards  of  service  in  every  employment,  and  largely  added  to 
the  value  of  farm  products  by  diversifying  the  industries  of  our 
people,  preventing  too  great  a  crowding  of  men  to  farms,  and 
furnishing  a  home  market  to  the  farmer,  it  has  at  the  same  time* 
reduced  the  prices  of  all  kinds  of  manufactured  goods  everywhere 
by  adding  our  own  production  to  the  production  of  other  coun- 
tries. Since  1860,  under  protection,  the  prices  of  prints  in  this 
country  have  declined  thirty-four  per  cent.,  of  woolen  cloths 
twTnty-five  per  cent.,  of  crockery  thirty-eight  per  cent.,  of  glass 
thirty-five  per  cent.,  of  boots  and  shoes  twenty  per  cent.,  and  of 
bar  iron  twenty-five  per  cent.^ 

England  and  America. — The  students  of  the  future,  in  the 
department  of  political  philosophy,  will  have  much  to  say  in  the 
way  of  comparison  between  American  and  British  institutions. 
The  relationship  between  these  two  is  unique  in  history.  It  is 
always  interesting  to  trace  and  to  compare  Constitutions,  as  it 
is  to  compare  languages,  especially  in  such  instances  as  those  of 
the  Greek  States  and  the  Italian  Republic.^,  or  the  diversified 
forms  of  the  feudal  system  in  the  different  countries  of  Europe. 
But  there  is  no  parallel  in  all  the  records  of  the  world  to  the 
case  of  that  prolific  British  mother,  who  has  sent  forth  her  innu- 
merable children  over  all  the  earth  to  be  the  founders  of  half  a 
dozen  empires.  She,  with  her  progeny,  may  almost  claim  to 
constitute  a  kind  of  universal  church  in  politics.  But  among 
these  children  there  is  one  whose  place  in  the  world's  eye  and  in 
history  is  superlative :  it  is  the  American  Republic.     She  is  the 


Mbid 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


573 


eldest  born.     She  has,  taking  the  capacity  of  her  hand  into  view 
as  well  as  its  mere  measurement,  a  natural  base  for  the  greatest 
continuous  empire  ever  established  by  man.    And  it  may  be  well 
here  to  mention,  what  has  not  always  been  sufficiently  observed, 
that  the  distinction  between  continuous  empire  and  empire  sev- 
ered and  dispersed  over  sea  is  vital.     The  development  which 
the  Republic  has  effected  has  been  unexampled  in  its  rapidity 
and  force.     While   other  countries  have  doubled,   or   at   most 
trebled,  their  population,  she  has  risen,  during  one  simple  cent- 
ury of  freedom,  in  round  numbers  from  two  millions  to  forty- 
five.     As  to  riches,  it  is  reasonable  to  establish,  from  the  decen- 
nial stages  of  the  progress  thus  far  achieved,  a  series  for  the 
future;  and,  reckoning  upon  this  basis,  I  suppose  that  the  very 
next  census,  in  the  year  1880,  will  exhibit  her  to  the  world  as 
certainlv  the  wealtliiest  of  all  the  nations.     The  hujre  fijrure  of 
a  thousand  millions  sterling,  which  may  be  taken  roundly  as  the 
annual  income  of  the  United  Kingdom,  has  been  reached  at  a 
surprising  rate— a  rate  which  may,  perhajis,  be  best  expressed  by 
saying  that,  if  w^e  could  have  started  forty  or  fifty  years  ago 
from  zero,  at  the  rate  of  our  recent  annual  increment  w^e  should 
now  have  reached  our  present  position.     But,  Avhile  we  have 
been  advancing  with  this  portentous  rapidity,  America  is  passing 
bv  as  if  in  a  canter.     Yet  even  now  the  work  of  searchinor  the 
soil  and  the  bowels  of  the  territory,  and  opening  out  her  enter- 
prise throughout  its  vast  expanse,  is  in  its  infancy.    The  England 
and  the  America  of  the  present  are  probably  the  two  strongest 
nations  of  the   world ;    but   there   can   hardly  be  a  doubt,  as 
between  the  America  and  the  England  of  the  future,  that  the 
daughter,  at  some  no  very  distant  time,  will,  whether  fiiirer  or 
less  fair,  be  unquestionably  yet  stronger  than  the  mother.  • 

"  O  matre  forti  filia  fortior." 


•■11 

•i 


"'' 


674 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


But  all  this  pompous  detail  of  material  triumphs,  whether  for 
the  one  or  for  the  other,  is  worse  than  idk%  unless  the  men  of 
the  two  countries  shall  remain,  or  shall  become,  greater  than  the 
mere  things  that  they  produce,  and  shall  know  how  to  regard 
those  things  simply  as  tools  and  materials  for  the  attainments  of 
the  highest  purposes  of  their  being.  Ascending,  then,  from  the 
ground  floor  of  material  industry  towards  the  regions  in  which 
these  purposes  are  to  be  wrought  out,  it  is  for  each  nation  to 
consider  how  far  its  institutions  have  reached  a  state  in  which 
they  can  contribute  their  maximum  to  the  store  of  human  hap- 
piness and  excellence.  And  for  the  political  student  all  over 
the  world  it  will  be  beyond  anything  curious,  as  well  as  useful, 
to  examine  with  what  diversities,  as  Avell  as  what  resemblances 
of  apparatus,  the  tw^o  greater  branches  of  a  race  born  to  com- 
mand have  been  minded  or  induced  or  constrained  to  work  out, 
in  their  sea-severed  seats,  their  political  destinies  according  to 
the  respective  laws  appointed  for  them.^ 

If  there  be  those  in  England  who  think  that  American  democ- 
racy means  public  levity  and  intemperance,  or  a  lack  of  skill  and 
sagacity  in  politics,  or  the  absence  of  self-command  and  self- 
denial,  let  them  bear  in  mind  a  few  of  the  most  salient  and 
recent  facts  of  history  which  may  profitably  be  recommended  to 
their  reflections.  We  emancipated  a  million  of  negroes  by  peace- 
ful legislation ;  America  liberated  four  or  five  millions  by  a 
bloody  civil  war;  yet  the  industry  and  exports  of  the  Southern 
States  are  maintained,  while  those  of  our  negro  colonies  have 
dwindled.  The  South  enjoys  all  its  franchises,  but  we  have, 
proh  pudor !  found  no  better  method  of  providing  for  peace  and 
order  in  Jamaica,  the  chief  of  our  islands,  than  by  the  hard  and 
vulgai;,  even  where  needful,  expedient  of  abolishing  entirely  its 
representative  institutions. 


at' 


POLITICAL    ASPECTS. 


575 


The  Civil  War  compelled  the  States,  both  Xortli  and  South, 
to  train  and  embody  a  million  and  a  half  of  men,  and  present  to 
view  the  greatest,  instead  of  the  smallest,  armed  forces  in  the 
world.     Here  there  was   supposed  to  arise  a   double   danger: 
First,  that  on  a  sudden  cessation  of  the  war,  military  life  and 
habits  could   not  be  shaken  off,  and,  having  become  rudelv  and 
widely  predominant,  would  bias  the  country  towards  an  aggress- 
ive policy,  or,  still  worse,  would  find  vent  in  predatory  or  revo- 
lutionary operations.    Secondly,  that  a  military  caste  would  grow 
up  with  its  habits  of  exclusiveaess  and  command,  and  would  in- 
fluence the  tone  of  politics  in  a  direction  adverse  to  republican 
freedom.     But  both  apprehensions  proved  to  be  whollv  imao-i- 
nary.     The  innumerable  soldiery  was  at  once  dissolved.     Cin- 
cinnatus,  no  longer  an  unique  example,  became  the  commonplace 
of  every  day,  the  type  and  mold  of  a  nation.     The  whole  enor- 
mous mass  quietly  resumed  the  habits  of  social  life.     The  gen- 
erals of  yesterday  were    the   editors,   the  secretaries,   and    the 
solicitors  of  to-day.     The  just  jealousy  of  the  State  gave  life  to 
the  now  forgotten  maxim  of  Judge  Blackstone,  who  denounced 
as  perilous  the  erection  of  a  separate  profession  of  arms  in  a  free 
country.     The   standing  army,  expanded  by  the   heat  of  civil 
contest  to  gigantic  dimensions,  settled  down  again  into  the  frame- 
work of  a  miniature  with  the  returning  temperature  of  civil  life, 
and  became  a  power  well   nigh  invisible,  from  its  minuteness, 
amidst  the  powers  which  sway  the  movements  of  a  society  ex- 
ceeding forty  millions. 

More  remarkable  still  was  the  financial  sequel  to  the  great 
conflict.  The  internal  taxation  for  Federal  purposes,  which 
before  its  commenoemaut  liad  been  unknown,  was  raised,  in 
obedience  to  an  exigency  of  life  and  death,  so  as  to  exceed  every 
present  and  every  past  example.     It  pursued  and  worried  all 


m 


1  Gladstone. 


576 


MAN   AND  ni3  RELATIONS. 


tlie  transactions  of  life.     The  interest  of  the  Am3riea:i  debt  ffrev/ 
to  be  the  highest  in  the  worhl,  and  the  capital   touched   five 
liundrcd  and  sixty  millions  sterling.     Here  was  provided  for  the 
faith  and  patience  of  the  people  a  touchstone  of  extreme  severity. 
In  England,  at  the  close  of  tiie  great  French  war,  the  prop- 
ertied  classes   were    supreme   in   Parliament,  at   once   rebelled 
against    the   Tory    Government,    and    refused   to    ])rolong   the 
Income    Tax    even    f)r  a  single   year,      ^ye    talked    big,  both 
then  and  now,  about  the  payment  of  our  National  Debt;  but 
sixty-three  years  have  since  elapsed,  all   of  them  except  two, 
called  years  of  peace,  and  we  have  reduced  the   huo:e  total  by 
about    one-ninth;    that  is  to   say,   by   little   over  one   hundred 
millions,  or  scarcely  more  t!ian  one  million  and  a  half  a  year. 
This  is  the  conduct  of  a  State  elaborately  diircsled  into  orders 
and  degrees,  famed  for  wisdom  and  forethought,  and  consolidated 
by  a  long  experience.     But  America  continued  not  long  to  bear, 
on  her  unaccustomed  and  still  smarting  shoulders,  the  burden 
of  the  war  taxation.     In  twelve  years  she  has  reduced  her  debt 
by  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  millions  sterling,  or  at  the  rate 
of  thirteen  millions  for  every  year.     In  each  twelve  months  she 
had  done  what  we  did   in  eight  years;  her  self-command,  self- 
denial,  and  wise  f  jrethouglit  for  the   future,  have  been,  to  say 
the  least,  eightfold  ours.    These  are  facts  which  redound  greatly 
to  her  honor;  and  the  historian   will  record  with  surprise  that 
an  enfranchised  nation  tolerated  burdens  which   in  England  a 
selected  class,  possessed  of  the  representation,  did  not  dare  to 
face,  and  that  the   most  unmitigated  democracy  known  to  the 
annals  of  the   world  resolutely   reduced,  at  its  own  cost,  pro- 
spective liabilities  of  the  State,  which  the  aristocratic,  and  pluto- 
cratic, and  raonarchial  government  of  the  United  Kingdom  has 
been  contented  ignobly  to  hand  over  to  posterity.     And  such 


POLITICAL   ASPECTS. 


577 


facts  should  be  told  out.  It  is  our  fashion  so  to  tell  them, 
against  as  well  as  for  ourselves ;  and  the  record  of  them  may 
some  day  be  among  the  means  of  stirring  us  up  to  a  policy  more 
worthy  of  the  name  and  fame  of  England.^ 

Melioratiox. — We  see  everywhere  signs  of  progress.  There 
is  progress  in  agriculture,  there  is  progress  in  the  arts,  there  is 
progress  in  all  the  sciences;  man's  dominion  over  nature  is 
rapidly  increasing,  and  the  earth,  every  succeeding  year,  is  made 
to  yield  a  greater  produce.  The  fruit  of  the  discoveries  of  one 
age  contains  the  germ  of  the  discoveries  of  the  generation  fol- 
lowing, and  the  new  plant  springs  alongside  of  the  old  one  to 
scatter  seed  like  its  progenitor  all  around.  Xo  valuable  inven- 
tion of  human  genius  is  ever  lost;  and  most  of  them  become 
the  means  of  multiplying  themselves  by  a  greater  than  compound 
proportion,  and  thus  render  each  generation  richer  than  the  one 
that  went  before.  The  wealth  of  all  preceding  generations  is 
thus  to  be  poured  into  the  lap  of  the  generations  that  are  to  live 
in  the  ccmirg  ages  of  ouj*  workVs  history.  The  struggle  for 
existence  still  goes  on;  but  there  is  evidence  that  the  intellectual 
is  to  show  itself  stronger  than  the  physical  and  the  moral,  always 
under  the  government  of  God,  stronger  than  either.  For  the 
present,  we  see  the  serpent  biting  the  heel  of  the  seed  of  the 
woman  :  but  the  age  of  serpents,  with  their  crushing  force  and 
their  cunning,  is  to  pass  away;  and  we  see  proof  that  the 
woman\s  heaven-born  seed  is  to  crush  the  head  of  the  serpent ; 
and,  as  Plato  forecast  it,  the  good  shall  be  the  uppermost,  and 
the  evil  the  undermost,  forever  more.^ 

It  is  a  good  thing  for  a  r^ation  to  be  born  into  human  historv, 

to  do  its  work,  and  then  cease  to  cumber  the  ground.    Most  men 

seem  to  pray  that  America  may  be  perpetual,  that  the  Union  and 

Constitution  may  last  forever,     I  hope  not.     Surely  there  are 
88 


>  Ibid. 


8  McCosh. 


f     ! 


ffi 


j( 


578 


MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


better  things  in  store  than  this  "  Universal  Yankee/'  and  better 
States  than  this  ^^  Model  Republic/'  with  its  worship  of  money 
and  its  sacrifice  of  men.  All  the  good  things  we  have  shall  be 
preserved,  the  evil  perish,  and  the  nation  with  it.  Mankind 
will  one  day  bury  the  American  State  as  gladly  as  the  Baby- 
lonian, or  Egyptian,  or  Roman,  was  gathered  to  its  fathers. 
This  nation  shall  also  do  its  work,  and  i)ass  away ;  the  future 
discovers  will  dig  in  the  ruins  of  Boston,  as  antiquaries  explore 
the  Indian  remains  of  the  \Yest,  and  they  will  come  upon  some 
remnant  of  our  civilization,  and  they  will  say,  "  These  people 
were  not  wholly  savage."  Better  institutions,  better  forms  of 
religion,  will  appear,  and  better  men  will  tread  the  ground  over 
our  heads.  They  will  have  gathered  up  every  good  thing  that 
we  brought  to  light,  and  put  it  in  the  golden  urn  of  history,  to 
be  kept  forever.^ 


i  Parker. 


II 
I 


•>*y 


5^  0  L  T  a;  i?^ 


CHAPTER   XL 


RELIGIOUS    ASPECTS. 

The  woof  of  life  is  dark,  but  it  is  shot  with  a  warp  of  gold.  -  F.  W.  Robertson. 

WE  know  the  sun  and  stars ;  we  know  that  distant  house 
and   hill;   not  directly,   but  as  reflecting  rays  of  light 
which  reach  our  eyes.     There  is  a  man  we  have  never  seen  ;  but 
we  know  him  to  be  eloquent,  from  his  speeches  which  we  have 
read ;  to  be  benevolent,  from  his  deeds  of  charity ;  to  be  truth- 
ful, from  his  continuing  in  the  path  of  integrity  when  he  might 
have  been  tempted  to  swerve  from  it.     In  like  manner,  we  can 
come  to  know  God  from  his  works :  know  him  to  be  powerful, 
from  the  traces  of  power  everywhere  visible ;  to  be  good,  from' 
the  provision  made  for  the  happiness  of  his  creatures;  and  to  be 
JList,  from  his  mode  of  government.     The  real  effects  in  nature 
carry   us   up    to    a    real    cause    above    nature.      We  recognize 
him,  not   as   the  unknown  cause,  but  as  the  known  cause   of 
known   effects.      We    clothe    him  with  varied  attributes,  so  as, 
to  make  him  capable  of  producing  the  varied  effects  we  dis- 
cover.     The  evidences  of  design   argue   an  adequate  cause  in 
an    intelligent    designer;   the  traces  of  beneficent  contrivanc4^. 
show  that  he  is  animated  by  love;  and  the  nature  of  the  moral 
power  in  man,  and  of  the  moral  government  of  the  world,  is  a 
proof  of  the  existence  of  a  Moral  Governor.     ..."  True   we 
do  not  know  all  about  God.     We  know,  after  all,  only  a  part; 

(579) 


580 


MAX   AND  HIS   RELATIONS. 


but,  ^'  we  know  in  p  irt/'  and  what  we  know  is  truth,  so  far  as  It 
goes.  '*  Clouds  and  vlarkness  are  round  about  him;  righteous- 
ness and  judgment  arc  the  habitation  of  his  throne.'^  The 
truth  is,  there  is  no  object  with  which  we  have  such  ample 
means  of  becoming  acquainted.  We  can  not  open  our  eyes  with- 
out discovering  his  workmanship.  AVe  can  not  Inspect  any  part 
of  nature  without  contemplating  in  the  very  act  his  ways  ()f  pro- 
cedure. We  are  ever,  whether  we  aknowledge  it  or  not,  recip- 
ients of  his  bounty.  There  is  no  being,  excepting  ourselves,  wnth 
whom  we  come  into  more  immediate  and  frequent  contact.^ 

In  nature  God  is  all  about  us,  a  presence  not  to  be  put  by,  the 
moving  of  all  motion,  the  living  of  all  life,  the  loving  spirit  iu 
all  that  loves,  and  the  being  of  all  things  that  are.  A  man 
naturallv  devout  loves  to  connect  God  with  all  the  material  word. 
Even  the  rudest  men  who  notice  the  power  that  is  in  the  material 
universe,  connect  God  with  all  that  is  sublime  and  awful.  What 
makes  them  shudder  and  turn  sick  at  heart — the  thunder,  the 
earthquake,  and  the  storm — to  them  is  God's  voice.  But  gentler 
and  more  retined  men  see  God  in  the  beautiful.  The  little  grass 
is  rooted  in  God,  and  every  rose  fills  its  cup  brimful  of  Deity. 
He  rounds  and  beautifies  the  spot  on  the  wing  of  a  butterfly,  and 
decks  each  microscopic  insect  with  brilliant  loveliness,  and  gives 
the  spider  her  curious  art  to  spin  and  weave,  and  walk  the  waters 
dry-shod,  with  no  pretending  miracle.  Philosophers  w^ell-bred 
love  to  associate  God  with  all  the  works  we  call  nature.  He  is 
the  great  weaver,  and  nature  is  His  living  web,  ever  old,  ever 
new,  where  static  and  dynamic  forces  put  in  the  warp  and  woof; 
and  from  the  various  threads,  mineral,  vegetable,  animal,  human. 
He  weaves  up  the  most  complex  patterns,  glittering  with  chemic, 
botanic,  vital,  spiritual  power.  ...  I  can  trust  the  finite 
universe  when  I  know  it  all  rests  on  the  Infinite  God,  that  the 


*  McCosh. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


581 


ocean  rolls  at  His  command,  and  by  His  unwavering  laws  the 
summer  poplar-leaves  are  twinkling  all  day  in  the  light  poured 
down  from  Him.  Then  the  all-absorbing  ocean  loses  its  cruel 
look,  and  all  things  instinct  with  life  are  instinct  not  less  with 
God.^ 

The  work  of  the  Great  Spirit  of  nature  is  as  deep  and  unap- 
proachable in  the  lowest  as  in  the  noblest  objects— the  Divine 
mind  is  as  visible  in  its  full  energy  of  operation  on  every  lowly 
bank  and  moldering  stone,  as  in  the  lifting  of  the  pillars  of 
heaven,  and  settling  the  foundation  of  the  earth ;  and,  to  the 
rightly  perceiving  mind,  there  is  the  same  infinitv,  the  same 
majesty,  the  same  power,  the  same  unity,  and  the  same  perfec- 
tion, manifest  in  the  casting  of  the  clay  as  in  the  scattering  of 
the  cloud,  in  the  moldering  of  the  dust  as  in  the  kindling  of 
the  dav-star.'^ 

No  nation  that  did  not  contemplate  this  wonderful  universe 
with  an  awe-stricken  and  reverential  feeling  that  there  was  a 
great  unknown,  omni])otcnt,  and  all-wise,  and  all-virtuous  Being, 
superintending  alj  men  in  it,  and  all  interests  in  it — no  nation 
ever  came  to  very  much,  nor  did  any  man  either,  who  forgot 
that.  If  a  man  did  forget  that,  he  forgot  the  most  important 
part  of  his  mission  in  this  w^orld.^ 

Trust. — It  is  a  moral  act  of  reason^  believing,  at  the  insti- 
gation of  reverence  and  love,  something  which  goes  beyond  the 
severe  requirements  of  the  evidence.  In  matters  of  pure  science, 
w4iere  we  have  to  do  with  mere  nature,  the  mind  simply  follows 
the  vestiges  of  proof  But  in  concerns  of  man  and  God,  we 
necessarily  carry  into  every  process  of  judgment  antecedent  pre- 
sumptions which  color  our  whole  thought,  and  interpret  for  us 
the  external  signs  given  to  direct  us.  To  a  cold  intellect,  these 
presumptions  will  be  wanting;  and  it  will  construe  the  spiritual 


1  Parker. 


2  Kuskin. 


3  Carlyle. 


582 


MAS   ASD  HIS   RELATION'S. 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


583 


as  if  it  were  phvsical.  To  a  bad  heart,  they  ^vill  be  dark  sus- 
picions ;  and  it  will  believe  its  own  shadow.  To  an  affectionate 
faithful,  humble  mind,  they  will  be  clear  trusts;  and  .t  will 
"think  no  evil,"  and  "hope  all  things."  It  is  in  this  y.eld.ng 
of  the  reason  to  the  better  suggestion-this  casting  of  one's  lot 
with  the  higher  possibility,  that  faith  consists.'  _ 

Tru.t  in  God  demands  that  wc  apply  God's  means  .n  God  s 
,vav   for  God's  ends.     That  is  what  we  are  here  for.     The  farmer 
tr„4s  in  God,  but  he  does  not  think  that  God  will  fill  his  barn 
with  summer  hav,  nor  with  autumn  corn  ;  he  trusts  the  means  of 
(^,od  plows  wen'his  land,  toils  with  the  sweat  of  his  own  brow 
and  the  labor  of  his  oxen  ;  he  enriches  the  soil,  culls  out  the  nicest 
seeds,  sows  them  with  care,  and  all  the  summer  long  he  da.ly 
t*nds  the  plants  his  skill  has  brought  out  of  the  ground.     Does 
he  trust  God  the  less  for  the  end,  because  he  uses  the  means 
thereto-    ^'o  sailor  thinks  he  can  pray  himself  across  the  sea ;  he 
^vants  a  stout  ship,  compass,  charts,  the  appliances  of  scienffic 
.kill      Does  he  trust  God  the  less  because  he  confides  .n  the  nat- 
ural means  which  God  provided  to  reach  his  end?    It  has  been 
.,  .reat  error  of  religious  men  to  scorn  the  human  means,  while 
iookin.'  for  the  human  end.     They  call  efforts  to  achieve  the  end 
In-  hunian  means  "tempting  Providence,"  "  leaning  on  an  arm  of 
fl'e-h  "   Ah  me  !   God  gave  us  arms  of  flesh  ;  they  are  arms  to  lean 
on   to  work  with,  the  instruments  of  God's  spirit.     It  is  in  vain 
t„  sav  that  we  trust  God  to  avert  any  harm,  and  do  nothing,  to 
velv  "on  pravcr  without  any  work.     A  prayer  of  that  sort  is  only 
a  pnfi  of  wind.     1  d,.  not  ask  God  to  write  a  sermon  for  me,  nor 
,„  select  a  hvmn,  nor  to  send  a  message  to  New  York.     He  has 
l,ut  means  in  my  power  for  these  things ;  if  I  use  not  the  means, 
it  is  because  I  do  not  trust  Him.^ 

When  in  your  last  hour  (think  of  this)  all  faculty  in  the 


broken  spirit  shall  fade  away  and  sink  into  inanity — imagination, 
thought,  eftbrt,  enjoyment — then  will  the  flower  of  belief,  which 
blossoms  even  in  the  night,  remain  to  refresh  you  with  its  fra- 
grance in  the  last  darkness/ 

To  such  readers  as  have  reflected  on  man^s  life  ;  who  under- 
stand that  for  man's  well-being  Faith  is  properly  the  one  thing 
needful ;  how  with  it  martyrs,  otherwise  weak,  can  cheerfully 
endure  the  shame  and  the  cross;  and  without  it  worldlings  puke 
up  their  sick  existence  by  suicide  in  the  midst  of  luxury  :  to  such 
it  will  be  clear  that,  for  a  pure  moral  nature,  the  loss  of  religious 
belief  is  the  loss  of  everything.  All  wounds,  the  crush  of  long- 
continued  destitution,  the  stab  of  false  friendship  and  of  false 
love,  all  wounds  in  thy  so  genial  heart,  would  have  healed  again 
had  not  its  life-warmth  been  withdrawn.^ 

Revekence. — Your  true-hearted,  fine-grained  man  puts  ofl:' 
his  shoes  at  the  door  of  a  mosque  as  devoutly  as  any  Moslem;  he 
treads  the  aisles  of  a  cathedral  as  softly  as  any  Romanist;  he 
despises  no  incense;  he  sneers  at  no  idol.  He  may  deny,  but  he 
will  not  jest.  The  sneer  is  crucial ;  bring  one  who  indulges  in 
it  to  the  test  and'you  will  find  him  crude  in  thought  and  coarse 
in  feelins;.  I  know  how^  common  it  is  and  how  much  there  is  to 
provoke  it  in  the  humanly-weak  forms  of  worship  and  eccen- 
tricities of  belief;  still,  the  most  deluded  Seventh-day  Baptist,  or 
Sandemanian  literalist,  ranks  higher  than  one  who  scofls  at  them. 
I  like  to  hear  one  pronounce  the  nauie  of  God  with  a  subdued 
awe,  and  to  see  the  cast  of  thought  overspread  the  features  when 
eternal  things  are  named.  I  like  to  see  a  delicate  and  quiet 
handlino;  of  sacred  truths — as  von  speak  the  name  of  your  mother 
in  heaven.  I  might  say  that  this  is"  the  way  a  gentleman  bears 
himself  toward  religion,  but  I  would  rather  have  you  feel  that  it 
is  the  treatment  due  to  the  majesty  of  the  subject.^ 


1  Richter 


2  Carlyle. 


3  Munger. 


1  Martineau. 


2  Parker. 


584 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


585 


Reverence  is  an  ennobling  sentiment ;  it  is  felt  to  be  degraclmg 
only  by  the  vulgar  niinJ,  which  would  escape  the  sense  of  its  own 
littleness  by  elevating  itself  into  an  antagoni.st  of  .vhat  .s  above 
it.     He  that  has  no  pleasure  in  looking  up  is  not  fit  so  much  as 

to  look  down.^ 

No  character  can  attain  a  supreme  degree  of  excellence  .n 
which  a  reverential  spirit  is  wanting.  Of  all  the  forms  of  moral 
goodness,  it  is  that  to  which  the  epithet  beautiful  may  be  most 

emphatically  applied.'  ,    ,  t  v  i      <■ 

WOKSIIIP.-I  have  lived  long  enough  to  know  what  I  did  not 
at  one  time  believe-that  no  society  can  be  upheld  in  happiness 
and.honor  without  the  sentiment  of  religion.' 

We  know,  and,  what  is  better,  we  feel  inwardly,  that  rehg.ou 
is  the  basis  of  civil  society,  and  the  source  of  all  good  and  of  all 
eomfort.     In  England  we  are  so  convinced  of  this  that  the.-e  .s 
no  rust  of  superstition,  with  which  the  accumulated  absurdity  of 
the  human  mind  might  have  crusted  it  over  in  the  course  of  ages 
that  ninetv-nine  in  a  hundred  of  the  people  of  England  would 
„ot  prefer  to  impiety.     We  shall  never  be  such  fools  as  to  call  in 
an  enemv  to  the  substance  of  any  system  to  remove  its  con-up- 
tions,  to'supply  its  defects,  or  to  perfect  its  constiniction.     If  our 
reli-^ious  tenets  should  ever  want  a  further  elucidation,  we  shall 
notlll  on  atheism  to  explain  them.     We  shall  not  light  up  our 
temple  from  that  unhallowed  fire.* 

If  you  travel  through  the  world  well,  you  may  find  cit.es 
without  walls,  without  literature,  without  kings,  moneyless,  and 
«uch  as  desire  no  coin;  which  know  not  what  theaters  or  public 
halls  of  bodily  exercise  mean ;  but  never  was  there,  nor  ever 
shall  there  be,  any  one  city  seen  without  temple,  church  or 
chapel  Kav,  methinks  a  man  should  sooner  find  a  city  bu.lt  in 
the  air,  without  anv  plot  of  ground  whereon  it  is  seated,  than 


that  any  commonwealth  altogether  void  of  religion  should  either 
be  first  established  or  afterward  preserved  and  maintained  in  that 
estate.  This  is  that  containeth  and  holdeth  together  all  human 
society ;  this  is  the  foundation,  stay,  and  prop  of  all.^ 

In  the  market,  the  reading-room,  the  editor's  office,  the  court- 
house, or  the  senate-house.  Religion  seems  a  very  small  power, 
which  affects  nobody  much.  Young  men  graduating  at  college 
say  they  will  be  lawyers,  or  doctors,  or  merchants,  and  lay  hold 
on  some  influence  which  moves  men;  religion  they  will  not 
touch,  it  not  moving  men.  It  is  left  out  of  the  account  of  public 
powers  by  the  political  economist,  and  statesmen  smile  gravely 
when  you  speak  of  religion  as  one  of  the  forces  that  sway  the 
world,  and  think  you  are  young.  But  when  you  come  to  look 
at  the  history  of  nations — America,  England,  France,  Germany — 
vou  see  that,  after  all,  it  is  sentiments  and  ideas  of  religion  which, 
in  their  silent  or  their  stormy  action,  sway  the  nation  and  con- 
trol the  state ;  and  when  you  take  into  your  account  the  whole 
life  of  the  human  race,  when  you  look  at  such  facts  as  Puritan- 
ism, Protestantism,  Mahometanism,  Christianity,  then  you  see 
that  all  the  great  civilizations  of  the  world  have  sprung  out  of 
religious  feeling,  have  been  shaped  and  controlled  by  religious 

thought.^ 

No  man  can  reach  the  summit  of  power,  no  life  can  compass 
the  highest  results,  that  is  not  lifted  far  above  the  plane  of  nature 
into  the  realm  of  the  supernatural.  It  is  the  tendency  of  our 
age,  and  the  special  aim  of  a  certain  school  of  writers,  to  elimi- 
nate the  supernatural  from  human  aifairs.  In  just  so  far  as  this 
object  is  accomplished  will  manhood  be  smitten  and  the  moral 
stature  of  mankind  be  diminished.  God  gave  to  man  spirit 
wings  as  well  as  fleshly  feet;  he  can  not  rise  to  loftiest  heights 
of  being  by  plodding  ever  on  the  solid  ground.     He  must  use 


.11  *^„  sT.pokv  3  La  Place. 

1  Washiugton  Alls  ton.  Lecky. 


4  Burke. 


1  Plutarch. 


2  Parker. 


586 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


587 


the   higher   as  well   as   the   lower  faculties  with  which   he  is 

endowed.^ 

'Tis  certain  that  worship  stands  in  some  commanding  relation 
to  the  health  of  man  and  to  his  highest  powers,  so  as  to  be,  in 
some  manner,  the  source  of  intellect.     All  the  great  ages  have 
been  ages  of  belief.     I  mean,  when  there  was  any  extraordinary 
power  of  performance,  when  great  national  movements  began, 
when   arts   appeared,  when  heroes  existed,  when    poems  were 
made,  the  human  soul  was  in  earnest,  and  had  fixed  its  thoughts 
on  spiritual  verities  with  as  strict  a  grasp  as  that  of  the  hands  on 
the  sword,  or  the  pencil,  or  the  trowel.     It  is  true  that  genius 
takes  its  rise  out  of  the  mountains  of  rectitude;  that  all  beauty 
and  power  which  men  covet  are  somehow  born  out  of  that  Alpine 
district;  that  any  extraordinary  degree   of  beauty   in    man  or 
woman  involves  a  moral  charm.     Thus,  I  think,  we  very  slowly 
admit  in  another  man  a  higher  degree  of  moral  sentiment  than 
o„r   own— a   finer  conscience,  more    impressionable,    or  which 
marks  minuter  degrees;  an  ear  to  hear  acuter  notes  of  right  and 
wrong  than  we  can.     I  think  we  listen  suspiciously  and  very 
slowly  to  any  evidence  to  that  point ;  but,  once  satisfied  of  such 
superiority,  we  set  no  limit  to  our  expectation  of  his  genius;  for 
such  persons  are  nearer  to  the  secret  of  God  than  others,  are 
bathed  bv  sweeter  waters ;  they  hear  notices,  they  see  visions, 

where  others  are  vacant.^ 

I  never  was  without  some  religious  principles.  I  never 
doubted,  for  instance,  the  existence  of  a  Deity ;  that  He  made 
the  world  and  governed  it  by  His  providence;  that  the  most 
acceptable  service  of  God  was  the  doing  good  to  man ;  that  our 
souls  are  immortal,  and  that  all  crimes  will  be  punished  and  vir- 
tue rewarded,  either  here  or  hereafter.  These  I  esteemed  the 
essentials  of  every  religion ;  and,  being  to  be  found  in  all  the 


religions  we  had  in  our  country,  I  respected  them  all,  though 
with  different  degrees  of  respect,  as  I  found  them  more  or  less 
mixed  with  other  articles,  Avhich,  without  any  tendency  to  inspire, 
promote,  or  confirm  morality,  served  principally  to  divide  us, 
and  make  us  unfriendly  to  one  another.^ 

There  is  a  great  deal  we  never  think  of  calling  religion  that  is 
still  fruit  unto  God,  and  garnered  by  Him  in  the  harvest.  The 
fruits  of  the  Spirit  are  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness, 
l^aticnce,  goodness.  I  affirm  that  if  these  fruits  are  found  in  any 
form,  whether  you  show  your  patience  as  a  woman  nursing  a 
fretful  child,  or  as  a  man  attending  to  the  vexing  detail  of  a 
business,  or  as  a  physician  following  the  dark  mazes  of  sickness, 
or  as  a  mechanic  fitting  the  joints  and  valves  of  a  locomotive, 
being  honest  and  true  besides,  you  bring  forth  truth  unto  God.^ 
True  religion  teaches  us  to  reverence  what  is  under  us,  to 
recognize  humility  and  poverty,  and  despite  mockery  and  dis- 
grace, wretchedness,  suffering,  and  death,  as  things  divine.^ 

The  call  to  religion  is  not  a  call  to  be  better  than  your  fellows, 
but  to  be  better  than  yourself.* 

The  sweetest  life  that  a  man  can  live  is  that  which  is  keyed  to 
love  toward  God  and  love  toward  man.'* 

Your  wish  is  to  lead  a  life  that  is  manful,  modest,  truthful, 
active,  diligent,  generous,  humble:  take  for  your  motto  these 
wonderful  words  of  the  apostle  where  he  says,  "Whatsoever 
things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things 
are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things 
are  of  good  report'' — everything  that  is  good  is  to  be  within 
your  view,  and  nothing  that  is  not  good.  I  am  certain  that  if 
you  cherish  those  virtues  you  will  never  forget  the  basis  of  them, 
you  \vill  never  forget  where  lies  their  root.  I  do  not  mean  that 
you  are  continually  to  be  parading  your  religious  feelings  and 


1  Franklin. 


2  Robert  CoUyer. 


3  Goethe. 


<  Beecher. 


5  Ibid. 


»  Dr.  Payne. 


2  Emerson. 


588 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


convictions.  These  are  very  deep  and  solemn  subjects,  and  will 
grow  in  the  shade  rather  than  in  the  sunlight.  Let  them  ever 
be  in  vour  minds,  as  they  are  indigenous  to  the  root  of  every 

excellence.^ 

So  sweet  and  so  natural  a  thing  is  piety  among  women  that 
men  have  come  to  regard  a  woman  without  it  as  strange,  if  not 
unhealthv.      The    coarsest  and  most  godless  men  often   select 
pious  wives,  because  they  see  that  piety  softens,  and  deepens,  and 
elevates  cverv  natural  grace  of  person,  and  every  accomplish- 
ment of  mind.     Now,  my  opinion  is  that  Heaven,  seeing  how 
important  it  is  for  you  to  be  its  own  children,  in  profession  and 
in   spirit,  has   given  special   favors  to    your  sex,  through  this 
simple  fact  or  principle  of  dependence.      It   is  your  work  to 
soften  and  refine  men.     :\Ien  living  without  you,  by  themselves, 
become  savage  and  sinful.    The  purer  you  are,  the  more  are  they 
restrained,  and  the  more  are  they  elevated.     It  is  your  work  to 
form  the  voung  mind-to  give  it  direction  and  iustruction-to 
develop  its  love  for  the  good  and  the  true.     It  is  your  work  to 
make  home  happy-to  nourish  all  the  virtues,  and  instill  all  the 
sentiments  which  build  men  up  into  good  citizens.     The  foun- 
dation of  our  national  character  is  laid  by  the  mothers  of  the 
nation.     I  say  that  Heaven,  seeing  the  importance  to  the  world 
of  piety  in  you,  has  so  modified  your  relations  to   man  that  it 
shall  1  e  comparatively  easy  for  you  to  descend  into  that  valley, 
over  ^^hich  all  must  walk,  before  their  feet  can  stand  upon  the 
heights  of  Christian  experience,  between  which  and  Heaven's 

door  tlie  ascent  is  easy. 

For  my  own  part,  I  shrink  with  horror  from  a  godless  woman. 
There  seems  to  be  no  light  in  her— no  glory  proceeding  from 
her.  There  is  something  monstrous  about  her.  I  can  see  why 
men  do  not  become  religious.     It  is  a  hard  thing— it  is,  at  least, 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


589 


if  experience  and  observation  are  to  be  relied  on— for  a  man 
whose  will  has  been  made  stern  by  encounters  in  the  great  battle 
of  life,  who  is  conscious  of  power  and  accustomed  to  have  the 
minds  around  him  bend  to  his,  who  possesses  the  pride  of  man- 
hood and  the  self-esteem  that  springs  naturally  in  the  mind  of 
one  in  his  position,  to  become  '^as  a  little  child.''  Woman  has 
only  to  recognize  her  dependence  upon  One  higher  than  num, 
and,  in  doing  this,  is  obliged  to  do  but  little  violence  to  her 
habits  of  thought,  and  no  violence  at  all  to  such  sentiments  of 
independence  as  stand  most  in  the  way  of  man.  So  I  say  that 
a  trodless  woman  is  a  monstrous  woman.    She  is  an  unreasonable 

to 

woman.  She  is  an  offensive  woman.  Even  an  utterly  godless 
man,  unless  he  be  debauched  and  debased  to  the  position  of  an 
animal,  deems  such  a  woman  without  excuse.  He  looks  on  her 
with  suspicion.  He  would  not  have  such  an  one  take  the  care  of 
his  children.     He  would  not  trust  her.^ 

Churcii-goino.— The  extermd  part  of  religion  is  doubtless 
of  little  value  in  comparison  with  the  internal,  and  so  is  the  cask 
in  comparison  with  the  wnne  contained  in  it ;  but,  if  the  cask  be 
staved  in,  the  wine  must  p  -rish.^ 

When  a  man  tells  me  that  he  respects  religion,  I  want  to  see 
him  prove  it  in  some  practical  way.  If  he  really  respects  relig- 
ion, he  will  give  his  life  to  it,  and,  as  the  smallest  possible  proof 
of  respect  that  he  can  render,  he  will  scrupulously  attend  upon 
its  ordinances,  and  show  to  the  world  the  side  upon  which  he 
wishes  his  influence  to  count.  No,  when  men  tell  me  that  they 
respect  religion,  and  offer  in  evidence  only  their  studied  and 
persistent  absence  from  all  Christian  ministrations,  I  have  simply 
to  respond  that  I  do  not  respect  them.  They  are  a  set  of  hypo- 
crites and  humbugs.  They  talk  about  the  hypocrisy  of  the 
church  I     There  is  not  such  another  set  of  hypocrites  in  America 


W 


1  Holland. 


s  Bishop  Horue. 


1  Gladstone. 


'I 


590 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


591 


as  those  who,  while  professing  to  respect  Christianity,  devote  the 
Christian  Sabbath  to  their  own  selfish  ease  or  convenience,  and 
re-ularly  shun  the  assemblages  of  Christian   men  and  women. 
Sometimes  they  try  to  prove  their  sincerity  by  throwing  in  their 
^vives  and  children.     They  will  tell  people  that  they  hire  a  pew, 
and  dress  their  wives  and  children  for  the  public ;  that  they  are 
willing  that  they  should  attend  church,  and  that  they  have  too 
much  respect  for  religion  to  stand  in  anybody's  way,  while,  by 
every  Sunday's  example,  they  plainly  declare  to  their  wives  and 
children  that  they  regard  the  church  and  the  religion  which  it 
represents  as  unworthy  the  respect  and  attention  of  a  rational 
man.    .    .    •    Unless  a  man  puts  himself  into  a  fine  shirt,  polished 
boots,  and  good  clothes  once  a  week,  and  goes  out  into  the  public, 
he  is'  almost  certain  to   sink  into  semi-barbarism.     He  knows 
that,  unless  he  can  do  this  on  Sunday,  he  can  not  do  it  at  all,  for 
he  llbors  all  the  week.     There  is  nothing  like  isolation  to  work 
degeneration  in  a  man.     There  is  nothing  like  standing  alone, 
with  no  place  in  the  machinery  of  society,  to  tone  down  one's 
self-respect.     He  must  be  aware  that  he  is  not  in  sympathy  with 
society.     He  is  looked  upon  as  an  outsider,  because  he  refuses  to 
come  in  contact  with  society  on  its  broadest  and  best  ground. 
It  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man  to  wash  his  face  clean,  and  put  on 
his  best  clothes,  and  walk  to  the  house  of  God  with  his  wife  and 
children  on  Sunday,  whether  he  believes  in  Christianity  or  not. 
The  church  is  a  place  where,  at  the  least,  good  morals  are  incul- 
cated, and  where  the  vices  of  the  community  are  denounced. 
He  can  afford  to  stand  by  so  much  of  the  church,  and,  by  doing 
so,  say, ''  Here  am  I,  and  here  are  mine,  with  a  stake  in  the  wel- 
fare oV  society,  an  interest  in  the  good  morals  of  society.'^     This 
little  operation,  gone  through  with  every  Sunday,  would  give 
him  self-respect,  help  him  to  keep  his  head  above  water,  and 


bring  him  into  sympathy  with  the  best  society  the  world  pos- 
sesses.     A   man  needs  to  beautify   himself  with  good   clothes 
occasionally  to  assure  himself  that  he  is  not  brother  of  the  beast 
by  the  side  of  which  he  labors  during  six  days  of  every  seven, 
and  he  needs  particularly  to  feel  that  he  has  place  and  considera- 
tion in  clean  society.     .     .     .     These  children  of  his  are  not  to 
blame  for  being  in  the  world.     They  came  forth  from  nothing- 
ness in  answer  to  his  call,  and  they  are  on  his  hands.     He  is 
resix)nsible  to  them,  at  least,  for  their  right  training.     He  is,  in 
personal  honor,  bound  to  give  them  such  instructions  in  morals 
as  will  tend  to  preserve  to  them  health  of  body  and  mind,  and 
honorable  relations  with  society.     How  will  he  do  it?     By  tell- 
ing them  that  church-going  is  foolishness,  and  Sabbath-keeping 
nonsense,  and  the  teachings  of  the  pulpit  only  tricks  of  priest- 
craft, and  the  amusement  of  blockheads?     Not  so.     He  must 
take  these  children  by  the  hand  and  lead  them  to  church,  and 
show  that  there  are,  at  least,  some  things  that  come  from  the 
pulpit  which  he  respects.     It  will  not  be  enough  that  he  sends 
them  and  their  mother.     He  must  go  with  them,  for,  if  he  does 
not,  they  will  soon  learn  the  realities  of  the  pulpit,  and,  in  learn- 
ino-  them,  learn  to  pity  him,  and  to  hold  his  intolerance  in  con- 
tempt.    He  must  stand  by  the  pulpit  as  the  great  teacher  of 
public  and  private   morality,  or  do  an  awful  injustice  to  the 
children  for  whose  life  and  health  and  education  he  is  responsible.^ 

Utilization  of  Evil. — I  inquired  what  iniquity  was,  and 
found  it  to  be  no  substance,  but  the  perversion  of  the  will  from 
Thee,  the  Supreme,  towards  lower  things.^ 

The  first  lesson  of  history  is  the  good  of  evil.  Good  is  a  good 
doctor,  but  Bad  is  sometimes  a  better.  'Tis  the  oppressions  of 
William  the  Norman,  savage  forest-laws,  and  crushing  despotism, 
that  made  possible  the  inspirations  of  Magna  Charta  under  Jjhn. 


i  Holland. 


2  St.  Augustine. 


ri 


592 


MAN  AKD  HIS  RELATIOXB. 


Edward  I  ^rantcd  money,  armies,  castles,  and  as  much  as  he 
could  get.      It  was  necessary  to  call  the  people  together  by 
shorter,  swifter  ways-and  the  House  of  Commons  arose.     To 
obtain  subsidies,  he  paid  in   privileges.     In  the  twenty-fourth 
year  of  his  reign,  he  decreed  "  that  no  tax  should  be  levied 
without  consent  of  Lords  and  Commons  "-which  is  the  basis 
of  the   English   Constitution.     Plutarch   affirms  that  the  cruel 
wars  which  followed  the  march  of  Alexander  introduced  tlie 
civility,  language,  and  arts  of   Greece   into  the  savage   East ; 
introduced  marriage ;    built  seventy  cities ;    and  united   hostile 
nations  under  one  goverument.     The  barbarians  who  broke  up 
the  Roman  empire  did  not  arrive  a  day  too  soon.     Schiller  says 
the  Thiitv  Years'  War  made  Germany  a  nation.     Rough,  selfish 
despots  serve  men  immensely,  as  Heury  VIII  in  the   contest 
Avith  the  Pope ;  as  the  infatuations,  no  less  than  the  wisdom,  of 
Cromwell ;  as  the  ferocity  of  the  Russian  czars;  as  the  fanaticism 
of  the  French  regicides  of  1789.     The  frost  which  kills  the  har- 
vest of  a  year  saves  the  harvests  of  a  century,  by  destroying 
the  weevil"  or  the  locust.      Wars,  fires,  plagues,  break  up  im- 
movable routine,  clear  the  ground  of  rotten  races  and  dens  of 
distemper,  and  open  a  fair  field  to  new  men.     There  is  a  tendency 
in  thin-s  to  right  themselves,  and  the  war  or  revolution  or  bank- 
ruptcy "that  shatters  a  rotten  system,  allows  things  to  take  a  new 
and  natural  order.     The  sharpest  evils  are  bent  into  that  perio- 
dicity which-  makes  the  errors  of  planets,  and  tiie  fevers  and 
distempers  of  men,  self-limiting.     Nature  is  upheld  by  antago- 
nism.    Passions,  resistance,  danger,  arc  educators.     We  acquire 
the  strength  we  have  overcome.     Without  war,  no  soldier ;  with- 
out enemies,  no  hero.     The  sun  Avere  insipid,  if  the  earth  Avcre 
not  opaque.     And  the  glory  of  character  is  in  affronting  the 
horrors  of  depravity,  to  draw  thence  new  nobilities  of  power : 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


593 


as  Art  lives  and  thrills  in  new  use  and  combining  of  contrasts, 
and  mining  into  the  dark  evermore  for  blacker  pits  of  night. 
What  would  painter  do,  or  what  would  poet  or  saint,  but  for 
crucifixions  and  hells?  And  evermore  in  the  world  is  this  mar- 
velous balance  of  beauty  and  disgust,  magnificence  and  rats. 
Not  Antoninus,  but  a  poor  washer-woman,  said:  "The  more 
trouble,  the  more  lion;  that's  my  principle.''^ 

Eml  exists  that  there  may  be  a  field  for  the  manifestation  of  good- 
ness. .  .  .  Let  us  look,  first,  at  some  obvious  phenomena  of 
evil  in  the  physical  world.  What  is  more  common  in  this  land 
of  flood  and  mountain  than  a  storm?  What  is  more  terrible 
than  the  su.ldjn  black  squall  coming  down  from  the  top  of  a 
Highland  gidly,  spreading  a  frown  of  savage  iron-blue  over  the 
shimmering  fiice  of  the  loch,  and  lashing  into  a  wild  race  of 
angry  billows  its  lately  placid  breast?  Contrast  with  this  exhi- 
bition of  the  fierce  and  savage  element  in  nature  the  serene 
beauty  with  which  the  purple  shoulders  of  our  Highland  Bens 
are  often  cliid  for  bright  weeks  together  in  the  month  of  August 
or  September,  and  the  balmy  breath  which  easy  mortals  inhale 
for  eio-ht  months  in  the  year  on  the  fertile  banks  of  the  Xile,  or 
beneath  the  pillared  shadows  of  the  Athenian  Acropolis;  and 
you  wish  that  this  golden  peace  of  physical  nature  were  eternal, 
and  that  no  such  things  as  storms  and  squalls,  and  whirlwinds 
and  waterspouts,  thunder  and  lightning,  and  terrible  fits  of  sub- 
terranean fever,  were  known  in  the  world.  This  is  natural. 
But  let  us  suppose  your  wish  granted,  and  all  the  stormy  evil 
which  you  lament  in  the  outward  world  instantly  and  forever 
abolished.  You  will  have  made  a  great  gain,  no  doubt.  But 
have  you  lost  nothing  by  this  banishing  of  the  stormy  form  of 
evil  from  the  physical  world?  One  thing  you  certainly  have 
lost— the  variety  which  you  at  present  enjoy  in  the  change  of 

39 

1  Emerson. 


594  '     MAN    AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 

the   seasons,   the   .-onderful   charm   of  over-recurring   novelty 
.nia  deathless  rejuvenescence.     Is  it  possible  t -t  nnvary^g 
monotony  of  any  kind,  even  to  perfect  peace,  should  be  pro- 
ductive of  as  much  happiness  as  the  change  of  rest  and  commo- 
tion in  nature  which  wo  now  enjoy  ?     ...  T,,      ,,,„ 
Lot  us  now  cast  a  glance  on  the  intellectual  world      The  two 
great  forms  of  evil  here  are    ignorance  and  stup.d.ty.      How 
many  enlightened   statesmen   in   every   part  of   Lurope  at  the 
present  moment  arc  daily  and  hourly  grapphng  val.an  ly  wtl 
the  first  of  these  evils;  how  many  laborious  schoolmasters  and 
schoolmistresses  and   learned   profe,sors   are  lam.nt.ng  va.nly 
over  the  second  1     And  not  only  teachers  of  youth,  and  nun.s- 
ters  of  education  and  sharp-eyed  inspectors,  and  writers  of  load- 
in.  articles  and  publishers  of  encyclopedias,   but  lawyers  and 
doctors  and  engineers,  and  all  sorts  of  persons,  are  engaged  .n  a 
life-long  battle  with  various  form,  of  ignorance  and  stup.d.ty. 
How  many  law-ploas   arise,  not  from   mere  selfishness  and  a 
aesire  to  overreach,  b..t  from  the  want  of  clear-headedness  and 
distinct  definite  ideas  about  what  the  parties  concerned  .eall> 
.^eant-fron.  some  misty  understanding  out  of  which  a  .n.sun- 
derstanding  is  sure,  on  the  first  convcient  opportunity  to  emerge, 
and  out  of  this  misundersta.Kling  again,  a  lawsuit?     How  .«uch 
.vork  of  all  ki..ds  in  the  world  is  constantly  going  on  more  y  to 
remedy  the  evils  which  a  want  of  oalcdation  and  fores.ght  ..i 
the  original  designers  had  caused?     A  la,nentable  fact,  you  w.U 
say      Well,  I  allow  it  has  a  lamentable  aspect ;  but  if  you  were 
to  have  your  pious  wish,  and  to  abolish  ignorance  and  stup.d.ty 
altogether,  I  rather  think  it  easy  to  show  that  you  would  produce 
a  state  of  things  much  more  lamentable.     Only  s..pposo  a  wor  d 
from  which  ignora..c3  was  altogether  banished-that  .s,  a  world 
in  which  everybody  know  everything  from  the  moment  they 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


595 


were  born.  In  such  a  world  there  would  be  neither  teachers  nor 
taujrht :  no  teachers  where  there  were  none  that  wanted  teach- 
ing;  no  taught  where  all  was  already  learned.  Now  only  con- 
sider what  this  implies.  The  pursuit  of  truth  is  by  universal 
admission  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  which  a  reasonable 
soul  is  capable.  The  commonest  facts  in  education  show  this. 
In  school  and  college  it  is  by  no  means  the  mere  outward  attrac- 
tiveness of  the  subject  that  fixes  the  fluttering  attention  of  the 
young  student — not  the  piercing  blaze  from  the  oxyhydrogen 
blow-pipe,  or  the  gay  coat  of  the  humming-bird,  or  the  various 
play  of  color  in  the  symmetrical  crystal,  but  it  is  the  pleasure 
which  he  feels  in  hunting  out  a  principle,  and  ascending  from 
the  subject  position  of  the  scattered  individual  fact  to  the  lord- 
ship of  a  general  idea;  that  is  to  say,  that  which  gives  zest  to 
his  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  the  fact  that  he  is  working  his 
way  out  of  ignorance.  .  .  .  Let  us  now  notice  the  operation 
of  the  same  great  principle  in  the  moral  world — that  stage  on 
which  all  of  us  must  act  our  parts  in  that  fashion  which  makes 
our  mortal  lives  either  a  harmonv  or  a  discord.  ...  If  the 
object  be  to  form  strong  characters,  it  is  manifest  that  to  remove 
the  temptation  is  to  destroy  the  virtue,  to  make  this  world  no 
longer  a  school  of  noble  self-training  and  manly  self-control. 
If  such  virtues  as  moderation  and  temperance  are  to  exist  at  all, 
they  can  only  be  found  in  a  world  Avhere  stimulus  is  strong  and 
appetite  unruly.  In  such  a  world  God  has  placed  us;  and  if  we 
would  act  in  happy  accordance  with  that  constitution  of  things 
which  is  His  will,  instead  of  yielding  weakly  to  every  flattering 
seduction  that  may  approach  us,  we  should  rejoice  in  the  offered 
opportunity  of  proving  that  we  are  men  and  not  beasts,  and 
that,  if  in  other  respects  certainly  inferior,  in  the  habit  of  resist- 
ing strong  temptations  we  are  to  all  appearance  superior  even  to 


|rS("<v*  '*• 


596 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS, 


the  an.el..  At  lea.t  so  Seneca,  the  wisest  of  Komati  moralist., 
thought,  when  he  uttered  his  often-<iuoted  sentence,  that  the 
.nccrssful  struggles  of  a  truly  virtuous  man  in  th.s  world  are 
often  such  as  the  blessed  gods,  in  their  shining  Olympian  seats, 

must  look  upon  with  envy/  .    •  i  ,  , 

CossEQrr.NCEs.--No  man  ever  sacrificed  his  sense  of  right  to 
anything-to  lust  of  pleasure,  lust  of  money,  lust  of  power  or 
lust  of  fame^but  the  swift  feet  of  Justice  overtook  him.     She 
held  her  austere  court  within  his  soul,  conducted  the  trial  passed 
sentence,  and  performed  the  execution.     It  was  done  with  closed 
doors;    nobodv  saw  it,  only  that  unslumbering  Eye    and  that 
n^n's  heart.     Nay,  perhaps  the  man  felt  it  not  himself,  but  only 
shrunk  and  shriveled,  and  grew  less  and  less,  one  day  to  fall, 
with  himbering  crash,  a  ruin  to  the  ground.^ 

Alienation  from  God ;  hatred  of  truth ;  hatred  of  purity ;  a 
hard,  bitter,  railing,  loveless  spirit;  mean,  base,  selfish,  sensual 
desires  -these  are  the  elements  of  hell ;  and  as  long  as  any  man, 
be  he  Pharisee  or  be  he  publican,  is  given  to  these,  so  long  he 
will  be  made  to  feel  with  the  evil  spirit, 

Which  way  1  fly  is  hell,  myself  am  hell, 
And  in  the  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep, 
Still  gaping  to  devour  me,  opens  Wide, 
To  which  the  hell  I  suffer  seems  a  heaven. 

Hell  is  a  temper,  not  a  place.     So  long  as  we  are  evil,  and 
impure,  and  unloving,  so  long  where  we  are  is  hell.^ 

Hell  hath  no  limits,  hot  is  circumscribed 
In  one  self  place ;  but  where  we  are  is  hell, 
And  where  hell  is  there  we  must  ever  be. 
And,  to  be  short,  when  all  this  world  dissolves, 
And  every  creature  shall  be  purified, 
All  places  shall  be  hell  which  are  not  heaven.^ 


1  Blackie. 


a  Parker. 


» Farrar. 


*  Marlowe. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


597 


Let  us  all  learn  that  the  consequences  of  sin  are  'mevitahk  ;  u\ 
other  words,  that  punishment  is  but  "  the  stream  of  consequence 
flowing  on  unchecked."     There  is  in  human  nature  an  element 
of  the  gambler,  willing  to  take  the  chances  of  things;  willing  to 
run  a  risk  if  the  issue  be  uncertain.     There  is  no  such  element 
here.     The  punishment  of  sin  is  certain.     All  Scripture  tells  us 
so.     "  The  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die."     "  Be  sure  your  sin 
will  find  you  out."     "  Though  hand  join  in  hand,  the  wicked 
shall  not  be  unpunished."     ''  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard." 
All  the  world's  proverbs  tell  us  so.     "  Reckless  youth,  rueful 
age."     "  As  he  has  made  his  bed,  so  he  must  lie  in  it."     "  He 
who  will  not  be  ruled  by  the  rudder,  must  be  ruled  by  the  rock." 
Even  Satan  himself  would  not  deny  it.     In  the  old  legend  of 
Dr.  Faustus,  when  he  bids  the  devil  lay  aside  his  devilish  pro- 
pensity to  lying,  and  tell  the  truth,  the  devil  answers :   "  The 
world  does  me  injustice  to  tax  me  with  lies.     Let  me  ask  their 
conscience  if  I  have  ever  deceived  them  into  believing  that  a 
bad  action  was  a  good  one."     ...     The  very  spirits  of  evil 
laugh  at  each  one  going  as  an  ox  to  the  slaughter,  whom  they 
dupe  into  the  fancy  that  out  of  special  favor  to  him  "  this  ada- 
mantine chain  of  moral  gravitation,  more  lasting  and  binding 
than  that  by  which  the  stars  are  held  in  their  spheres,  will  be 
snapped ;  that  sin  for  him  will  change  its  nature,"  and  at  his 
approval  the  Gehenna  of  punishment  be  transformed  into  a  gar- 
den of  delight.     Is  it  so  ?     Has  there  been  any  human  being  yet, 
since  time  began,  however  noble,  however  beautiful,  however 
gifted,  however  bright  with  genius  or  radiant  with  fascination, 
who  has  sinned  with  impunity  ?     Ah,  no  !     God  is  no  respecter 
of  persons.     Fire  burns  and  water  drowns,  whether  the  sufferer 
be  a  worthless  villain  or  a  fair  and  gentle  child ;  and  so  the 
moral  law  works,  whether  the  sinner  be  a  '^  David  or  a  Judas, 


598 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


whether  he  be  publican  or  priest.'^  In  tlie  physical  world  there 
is  no  forgiveness  of  sins.  Sin  and  ])nnishnient,  as  Plato  said, 
walk  this  world  with  their  heads  tied  together,  and  the  rivet 
that  links  their  iron  link  is  a  rivet  of  adamant.  .  .  .  There 
is  a  dreadful  coercion  in  our  own  iniquities;  an  inevitable  con- 
gruity  between  the  deed  and  its  consequences ;  an  awful  germ  of 
identity  in  the  seed  and  in  the  fruit.  We  recognize  the  sown 
wind  in  the  harvest  whirlwind.  We  feci  that  it  is  we  who  have 
winged  the  very  arrows  that  eat  into  our  heart  like  fire.  It 
needs  no  gathered  lightning,  no  divine  intervention,  no  miracu- 
lous message,  to  avenge  in  us  God's  violated  laws.  They  avenge 
themselves.  You  m  ly  laugh  at  Bibles,  sneer  at  clergymen,  keep 
awav  from  churches,  and  vet  vour  sin,  cominfj  after  vou  with 
leaden  footstep,  and  gathering  form,  and  towering  over  you, 
smites  you  at  last  with  the  iron  hand  of  its  own  revenge.^ 

I  know  not  that  we  have  anv  one  kind  or  detirree  of  eniov- 
ment  but  by  the  means  of  our  own  actions.  And  bv  prudence 
and  care  we  may,  f  >r  the  most  part,  pass  our  days  in  tolerable 
ease  and  quiet ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  we  may,  by  rashness,  un- 
governed  passion,  willfulness,  or  even  by  negligence,  make  our- 
selves as  miserable  as  ever  we  please.  And  many  do  please  to 
make  themselves  extremely  miserable — L  c,  to  do  what  they 
know  beforehand  will  render  tliem  so.  They  follow  those  ways, 
the  fruit  of  which  they  know,  by  instruction,  example,  experi- 
ence, will  be  disgrace,  and  poverty,  and  sickness,  and  untimely 
death.  This  every  one  observes  to  be  the  general  course  of 
things;  though  it  is  to  be  allowed  we  can  not  find  by  experience 
that  all  our  sufferings  are  owing  to  our  own  follies.  .  .  . 
Whether  the  pleasure  or  pain  which  thus  follows  upon  our 
behavior  be  owing  to  the  Author  of  Nature's  acting  upon  us 
every  moment  which  we  feel  it,  or  to  His  having  at  once  con- 


1  Farrar. 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


509 


trived  and  executed  His  own  part  in  the  plan  of  the  world,  makes 
no  alteration  as  to  the  matter  before  us.  For,  if  civil  magistrates 
could  make  the  sanction  of  their  laws  take  place,  without  inter- 
posing at  all,  after  they  had  passed  them,  without  a  trial  and  the 
formalities  of  an  execution;  if  they  were  able  to  make  their 
laws  execute  themselves,  or  every  offender  to  execute  them  upon 
himself,  we  should  be  just  in  the  same  sense  under  their  govern- 
ment then  as  we  are  now,  but  in  a  much  higher  degree  and  more 
perfect  manner.  Vain  is  the  ridicule  with  which  one  foresees 
some  persons  will  divert  themselves,  upon  finding  lesser  pains 
considered  as  instances  of  divine  punishment.  There  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  answering  or  evading  the  general  thing  here  intended, 
without  denying  all  final  causes.^ 

The  Coming  Night. — ^^To  think,''  I  said  to  myself,  as  I 
walked  over  the  bridge  to  the  village  street — "to  think  that  the 
one  moment  the  person  is  here,  and  the  next — who  shall  say 
where f  for  we  know  nothing  of  the  region  beyond  the  grave! 
Not  even  our  risen  Lord  thohght  fit  to  bring  back  from  hades 
any  news  for  the  human  family  standing  straining  their  eyes 
after  their  brothers  and  sisters  that  have  vanished  in  the  dark."^ 

Who  telleth  a  tale  of  unspeaking  death  ? 

Who  lifteth  the  veil  of  what  is  to  come? 
Who  painteth  the  shadows  that  are  beneath 

The  wide-winding  caves  of  the  peopled  tomb? 
Or  uniteth  the  hopes  of  what  shall  be 
With  the  fears  and  the  love  for  that  which  we  see?' 

From  the  beginning,  a  deep  sad  thought  has  weighed  upon 
the  restless  spirit  of  man — the  troubled  dream — the  unknown 
goal  —  the  valley  of  the  shadow  —  the  infinite  obscurity  —  the 
black  sea  of  oblivion  that  swallows  up  the  grace  and  loveliness, 


Bishop  Butler. 


SMacdonald. 


3  Shelley. 


600 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


the  thoughts  and  acts,  of  SO  many  million  beings  whom  no  eye 
shall  ever  see  again.     The  instinctive  dread  is  upon  all  men,  and 
in  a  thousand  ways  they  seek  to  fortify  themselves  against  the 
terrors  of  dissolution,  that  they  may   meet  their  fate  serenely. 
^'When  I  an  dead/'  said  an  expiring  chief  at  Washington,  'Met 
the  biir  iruns  be  fired  over  me."     It  were  easier  to  die  if  buried 
in  state.     Saladin,  in  his  last  illness,  ordered  his  shroud  to  be 
uplifted   as   a   flag,    and    the    herald    was   commanded    to    cry: 
"Behohl !  this  is  all  which  Saladin,  the  vanquisher  of  the  East, 
carries  away  of  all  his  conquests."     To  pass  from  the  world  in  a 
striking  antithesis  was  not  barren  comfort !     The  humblest  de- 
sires at  least  a  simple  stone,  that  he  may  pretend  to  live  by  the 
proof  of  his   last  sleep.     It  is  this  overshadowing  idea  of  the 
death-doom  which  the  author  of  "  Thanatopsis  "  has  rendered  im- 
perishably  articulate  for  every  fearful  and  longing  soul,  with  a 
voice  so  gentle,  so  wise,  and  so  winning,  as  to  mitigate  what  can 
not  be  remedied,  and  consecrate  what  before  was  painful.     With 
what  thoughtful  tenderness  he  ask*s  us  to  seek  the  healing  sym- 
pathy of  Nature,  to  receive  bravely  her  mild  and  gentle  lesson 
that  wo  must  die,  to  bring  our  conduct   up  to  her  loftiness,  to 
contemplate  our  fate   with   that  resignation    which    leadeth    to 
wisdom : 

"When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall. 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart ; 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around— 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air- 
Comes  a  still  voice.     Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS.  601 

In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain  ' 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak. 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold." 

What  consolation  is  offered?  Not  the  Christian  idea  of  a 
heaven  with  its  chrysolite  splendors  and  harping  angels,  but  the 
Pagan  idea  of  a  nameless  multitude  vanished  into  the  great 
drowned  regions  of  the  past,  where  the  least  may  in  some  sort 
share  the  awful  and  shadowy  unconsciousness  of  kings  and  seers : 

"Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting  place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 
Th^  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulcher." 

Visible  glories  are  but  dying  mementos.  Beauty  and  grandeur 
do  but  embellish  the  universal  grave  : 

"The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun— the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods — rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all, 


'»! 


602 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


603 


Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man." 

Since  the  morning  of  creation,  the  recorded  names  contain  not 
half  a  century,  and  the  living  are  as  vaporous  phantasms  on  the 
peaks  of  a  submerged  continent.  On  no  spot  of  earth  may  you 
plant  your  foot  and  affirm  that  none  sleeps  beneath : 

"All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  liandful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
Or  lose  thvself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 
Save  his  own  dashings — yet  the  dead  are  there : 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep— the  dead  reign  there  alone." 

It  is  related  of  Buddha  that  there  came  to  him  one  day  a 
woman  who  had  lost  her  only  child.  She  called  frantically  on 
the  prophet  to  give  back  her  little  one  to  life.  "Go,  my  daugh- 
ter," said  he,  "  g:et  me  a  mustard-seed  from  a  house  into  which 
death  has  never  entered,  and  I  will  do  as  thou  hast  bidden  me." 
From  house  to  house  she  went,  saying,  "  Give  me  a  mustard-seed, 
kind  folk,  for  the  prophet  to  revive  my  child;"  but  far  as  she 
wandered,  in  the  crowded  thoroughfare  and  by  the  lonely  road- 
side, she  found  not  the  home  on  whose  door  the  shadow  had  not 
settled.  Gradually  the  prophet's  meaning  dawned  upon  her 
mind ;  she  saw  the  broader  grief  of  the  race,  and  her  passion 
was  merged  in  pity.  Forget  yourself  in  the  common  sorrow,  be 
reconciled  to  Destiny.  Why  hesitate  to  enter  the  darkness  where 
so  vast  a  company  have  gone — where  all  must  go  ?     Yet  a  few 


days,  and  the  rest  will  follow.  The  brave  and  the  fair,  the  bright 
and  the  joyous  shall — like  you  who  depart  in  silence  and  alone — 
have  their  light  in  ashes  : 

"  All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     Tlie  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come, 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glides  away,  the  sons  of  men. 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid. 
The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side. 
By  those,  who  in  their  turns  shall  follow  them." 

Be  fortified  bv  these  considerations.  If  other  solace  is  needed, 
seek  it  in  the  performance  of  duty.  Above  all,  be  conscience- 
clear;  think  nobly,  act  nobly,  hope  well: 

"  So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  tlie  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams."  ^ 

When  death  strikes  down  the  innocent  and  young,  for  every 
fragile  form  from  which  he  lets  the  panting  spirit  free  a  hundred 
virtues  rise,  in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and  love,  to  walk  the 

» From  the  Author's  "  Development  of  English  Literature  and  Language,"  Vol.  II,  p.  384. 


t'   ! 


60-i 


MAN   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


world  and  bless  it.     Of  every  tear  that  sorrowing  mortals  shed 
on  such  green  graves,  some  good  is  born,  some  gentler  nature 

comes.^ 

0  eloquent,  just,  and  mighty  death!  whom  none  could  advise 
thou  hast  persuaded,  what  none  hath  dared  thou  hast  done,  and 
whom  all  the  world  hath  flattered  thou  only  hast  cast  out  of  the 
world  and  despised ;  thou  hast  drawn  together  all  the  far-stretched 
greatness,  all  the  pride,  cruelty,  and  ambition  of  men,  and  cov- 
ered it  all  over  with  these  two  narrow  words.  Hie  jacet !  ^ 

Immortality.— That  which  is  so  universal  as  death  must  be 

a  benefit.^ 

1  look  upon  death  to  be  as  necessary  to  our  constitution  as 

sleep.     We  shall  rise  refreshed  in  the  morning.* 

We  go  to  the  grave  of  a  friend  saying,  ''X  man  is  dead ;"  but 
ano-els  thronjjc  about  him  saving,  "A  man  is  born."^ 

There  is  nothing,  no,  nothing,  innocent  or  good  that  dies  and 
is  foro-otten  ;  let  us  hold  to  that  faith  or  none.  An  infant,  a 
prattling  child,  dying  in  its  cradle,  will  live  again  in  the  better 
thoughts  of  those  who  loved  it,  and  play  its  part,  through  them, 
in  the  redeeming  actions  of  the  world,  though  its  body  be  burnt 
to  ashes,  or  drowned  in  the  deepest  sea.  There  is  not  an  angel 
added  to  the  host  of  heaven  but  does  its  blessed  work  on  earth 
in  those  that  loved  it  here.^ 

Among  excellent  arguments  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
there  is  one  drawn  from  the  perpetual  progress  of  the  soul  to  its 
perfection  without  a  possibility  of  ever  arriving  at  it ;  which  is 
a  hint  that  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  opened  and  improved 
by  others  who  have  written  on  this  subject,  though  it  seems  to 
me  to  carry  a  great  weight  with  it.  How  can  it  enter  into  the 
thoughts  of  man,  that  the  soul,  which  is  capable  of  such  immense 
perfections,  and  of  receiving  new  improvements  to  all  eternity, 

i  Dickens.      2  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh.      'Schiller.      *  Franklin.      ^Beecher.      'Dickens 


RELIGIOUS  ASPECTS. 


605 


shall  fall  away?     It  fills  a  nation  with  spleen  and  rancor,  and 
extinguishes   all    the   seeds   of  good   nature,   compassion,   and 

humanity.^ 

W'hen  I  reflect  that  God  has  given  to  inferior  animals  no 
instincts  or  faculties  that  are  not  immediately  subservient  to  the 
ends  and  purposes  of  their  beings,  I  can  not  but  conclude  that 
the  reason  and  faculties  of  man  were  bestowed  upon  the  same 
principle,  and  are  connected  with  his  superior  nature.     When  I 
find  him,  therefore,  endowed  with  powers  to  carry,  as  it  were, 
the  line  and  rule  to  the  most  distant  worlds,  I  consider  it  as 
conclusive  evidence  of  a  future  and  more  exalted  destination, 
because  I  can  not  believe  that  the  Creator  of  the  universe  would 
depart  from  all  the  analogies  of  the  lower  creation  in  the  forma- 
tion of  His  highest  creature,  by  gifting  him  with  a  capacity  not 
only  utterly  useless,  but  destructive  of  his  contentment  and  hap- 
piness, if  his  existence  Were  to  terminate  in  the  grave.^ 

For'does  this  soul  within  me,  this  spirit  of  thought  and  love 
and  infinite  desire,  dissolve  as  well  as  the  body?  Has  Nature, 
who  (luenches  our  bodily  thirst,  who  rests  our  weariness,  and 
perpetually  encourages  us  to  endeavor  onwards,  prepared  no  food 
for  this  appetite  of  immortality.^ 

This  that  we  call  death,  is  but  a  form  in  the  eyes  of  men. 
It  looks  something  final,  an  awful  cessation,  an  utter  change. 
It  seems  not  probable  that  there  is  anything  beyond.  But  if 
God  could  gee  us  before  we  were,  and  make  us  after  His  ideal, 
that  we  shall  have  passed  from  the  eyes  of  our  friends  can  be  no 
argument  that  He  beholds  us  no  longer.     All  Vim  unto  Him.^ 

The  eye,  fixed  on  the  lifeless  body,  on  the  wan  features  and 
the  motionless  limbs-and  the  imagination,  following  the  frame 
into  the  dark  tomb,  and  representing  to  itself  the  stages  of  decay 
and  ruin,  are  opt  to  fill  and  oppress  the  mind  with  discouraging 

1  Addiaon.  B  Erskine.  ^  Leigh  Hunt.  <  Macdonald. 


606 


MAN   AND   HIS  RELATIONS. 


and  appalling  thoughts.  The  senses  can  detect  in  the  pale  corpse 
not  a  trace  of  the  activity  of  that  spirit  which  lately  moved  it. 
Death  seems  to  have  achieved  an  entire  victory;  and  when 
reason  and  revelation  speak  of  continued,  and  a  higher  life,  the 
senses  and  imagination,  pointing  to  the  disfigured  and  molder- 
ing  body,  obscure  by  their  sad  forebodings  the  light  which  reason 
and  revelation  strive  to  kindle  in  the  bereaved  soul.  .  .  . 
To  multitudes.  Heaven  is  almost  a  world  of  fancy.  It  wants 
substance.  The  idea  of  a  world  in  which  beings  exist  without 
these  gross  bodies,  exist  as  pure  spirits,  or  clothed  with  refined 
and  spiritual  frames,  strikes  them  as  a  fiction.  What  can  not 
be  seen  or  touched  appears  unreal.  This  is  mournful,  but  not 
wonderful ;  for  how  can  men  who  immerse  themselves  in  the 
body  and  its  interests,  and  cultivate  no  acquaintance  with  their 
own  souls  and  spiritual  powers,  comprehend  a  higher  spiritual 
life?  .  .  .  When  our  virtuous  friends  leave  the  world,  we 
know  not  the  place  where  they  go.  We  can  turn  our  eyes  to 
no  spot  in  the  universe  and  say  they  are  there.  Nor  is  our 
ignorance  here  of  any  moment.  It  is  unimportant  what  region 
of  space  contains  them.  Whilst  we  know  not  to  what  place  they 
go,  we  know  what  is  infinitely  more  interesting,  to  what  beings 
they  go.     We  know  not  where  Heaven  is,  but  we  know  Wliom 

it  contains.^ 

To  me,  there  is  but  one  objection  against  immortality,  if  objec- 
tion it  may  be  called,  and  this  arises  from  the  very  greatness  of 
the  truth.  My  mind  sometimes  sinks  under  its  weight,  is  lost  in 
its  immensitv ;  I  scarcelv  dare  believe  that  such  a  good  is  placed 
within  my  reach.  When  I  think  of  myself  as  existing  through 
all  future  ages,  as  surviving  this  earth  and  that  sky,  as  exempted 
from  every  imperfection  and  error  of  my  present  being,  as 
clothed  with  an  angePs  glory,  as  comprehending  with  my  intel- 


1  Channing. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


607 


lect  and  embracing  in  my  affections  an  extent  of  creation  com- 
pared with  which  the  earth  is  a  point;  when  I  think  of  myself 
as  looking  on  the  outward  universe  with  an  organ  of  vision  that 
will  reveal  to   me  a  beauty  and  harmony  and  order  not  now 
imagined,  and  as  having  an  access  to  the  minds  of  the  wise  and 
good  which  will  make  them  in  a  sense  my  own  ;  when  I  think 
of  myself  as  forming    friendships  with  innumerable   beings  of 
rich  and  various  intellect,  and  of  the  noblest  virtue,  as  intro- 
duced to  the  society  of  heaven,  as  meeting  there  the  great  and 
excellent  of  whom  I  have  read  in  history.     .     .     .     When  this 
thought  of  my  future  being  comes  to  me,  whilst  I  hope,  I  also 
fear;    the  blessedness  seems   too   great;    the  consciousness   of 
present  weakness  and  unworthiness  is  almost  too  strong  for  hope. 
But  when  in  this  frame  of  mind  I  look  around  on  the  creation, 
and  see  there  the  marks  of  an  omnipotent  goodness,  to  which 
nothing  is  impossible,  and  from  which  everything  may  be  hoped  ; 
when  I  see  around  me  the  proofs  of  an  Infinite  Father  who 
must  desire  the  perpetual  progress  of  his  intellectual  offspring ; 
when  I  look  next  at  the  human  mind,  and  see  what  powers  a 
few  years  have  unfolded,  and  discern  in  it  the  capacity  of  ever- 
lastino"  improvement ;  and  especially  when  I  look  at  Jesus,  the 
conqueror  of  death,  the  hei?   of  immortality,  who  has  gone  as 
the  forerunner  of  mankind  into  the  mansions  of  light  and  purity, 
I  can  and  do  admit  the  almost  overpowering  thought  of  the 
everlasting  life,  growth,  and  felicity  of  the  human  soul.^ 

Some  say  :  ''How  can  the  same  dust  be  raised  again,  when  it 
may  be  scattered  to  the  winds  of  heaven  ?''  It  is  a  question  I 
hardly  care  to  answer.  .  .  .  What  do  I  care  about  my  old 
clothes  after  I  have  done  with  them  ?  What  is  it  to  me  to  know 
what  becomes  of  an  old  coat,  or  an  old  pulpit  gown  ?  I  have  no 
such  clinging  to  the  flesh.     It  seems  to  me  that  people  believe 


1  Ibid. 


^. 


608 


MAN  AND  HIS  RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


609 


their  bodies  to  be  themselves,  and  are  therefore  very  anxious 
about  them  ;  'and  no  wonder,  then.  Enough  for  me  that  I  shall 
have  eyes  to  see  my  friends,  a  face  that  they  shall  know  me  by, 
and  a  mouth  to  praise  God  withal.^ 

*^  We  brought  nothing  into  this  life,  and  we  can  carry  nothing 
out  of  it/'  it  is  said.     That  is  true  of  the  physical;  but  O,  we 
can  carry  something  out!     We  receive  life  as  a  spark,  and  we 
can  make  it  glow  like  a  beacon  light;  and  that  we  can  carry 
with  us  when  we  go.     Faith  and  hope  kindled  and  exercised- 
these  we  can  carry  out.     .     .     .     The  best  parts  of  ourselves  we 
can  carrv  out.      When  the   farmer  goes  into  his  field  in  the 
autumn   to  harvest  his  grain,  he  takes  the  head  of  the  wheat. 
That  is  what  he  cares  for.     It  matters  little  to  him  if  the  straw 
and  the  chaff  go  to  the  ground  again.     In  taking  the  wheat  he 
takes  that  for  which  these  things  were  provided.     He  takes  the 
ripe  kernel,  and  leaves  behind  the  straw  and  the  chaff,  which 
were  simply  designed  to  serve  as  wrappers  for  the  growing  and 
ripening  grain.     The  ripe  grain— that  we  carry  out.^ 

Of  immortality,  the  soul,  when  well  employed,  is  incurious. 
It  is  so  well,  that  it  is  sure  it  will  be  well.     It  asks  no  questions 
of  the  Supreme  Power.     The  son  of  Antiochus  asked  his  father 
.vhen  he  would  join  battle.     "  Dost  thou  fear,"  replied  the  king, 
<nhat  thou  only  in  all  the  army  wilt  not  hear  the  trumpet?" 
'Tis  a  higher  thing  to  confide,  that,  if  it  is  best  we  should  live, 
we  shainive— 'tis  higher  to  have  this  conviction  than  to  have 
the   lease    of    indefinite   centuries  and    millenniums   and  aeons. 
Higher  than  the  question  of  our  duration  is  the  question  of  our 
deserving.     Immortality  will  come  to  such  as  are  fit  for  it,  and 
he  who  would  be  a  great  soul  in  future  must  be  a  great  soul  now. 
It  is  a  doctrine  too  great  to  rest  on  any  legend— that  is,  on  any 
man's  experience  but  our  own.     It  must  be  proved,  if  at  all, 


from  our  own  activity  and  designs,  which  imply  an  interminable 
future  for  their  play.^ 

Briefly,  Death  is  a  friend  of  ours ;  and  he  that  is  not  ready  to 

entertain  him  is  not  at  horoe.^ 

Grandeur  of  Man.— Man  is  the  jewel  of  God,  who   has 
created  this  material  universe  as  a  casket  to  keep  his  treasure  in. 
The  ox  bears  his  burdens ;  the  Arctic  whale  feeds  the 
scholar's  or  the  housewife's  lamp  ;  the  lightnings  take  their  mas- 
ter's thought  on  their  wings,  and  bear  it  over  land  or  underneath 
the   sea.     The  amaranthine  gems  which  blossom  slowly  in  the 
caverns  of  the  ground— these  are  the  rose-buds  for  his  bosom. 
The  human  Elias  goes  up  in  his  chariot  of  flame ;  he  has  his  sky- 
chariot,  and  his  sea-chariot,  and  his  chariots  for  land,  drawn  by 
steeds  of  fire  which  himself  has  made.     .     .     .     The  Andes  fill 
me  with  less  amazement  than  the  mountain-minded  Humboldt, 
who  ascends  and  measures  them.     To  the  Christian  pilgrim,  the 
mountains  about  compact  Jerusalem  are  as  nothing  to  the  vast 
soul  of  Moses,  Esaias,  Samuel,  Jesus,  who  made  the  whole  land 
sanctified   in    our   remembrance.      Yonder   unexpected    comet, 
whose  coming  science  had  not  heralded,  who  brought  no  intro- 
duction from  Arago  or  Leverrier,  and  presented  himself  with  no 
letter  of  recommendation,  save  the  best  of  all,  his  comely  face,  is 
far  less  glorious  than  the  rustic  lover,  who  thinks  of  those  dear 
eyes  which  are  watching  those  two  stars  that  every  evening  so 
sweetly  herald  the  night.     Nay,  this  hairy  stranger  is  far  inferior 
to  the  mind  that  shall  calculate  its  orbit,  and  foretell  its  next 
arrival  to  our  sight.     High  and  glorious  are  the  stars !     What  a 
flood  of  loveliness  do  they  pour  through  the   darkness  every 
night— a  beauty  and  a  mystery!     But  the  civilized  man  who 
walks  under  them— nay,  the  savage  who  looks  up  at  them  only 
as  the  wolf  he  slays  regards  them,  has  a  fairer  and  a  deeper 


40 


» Macdonftld. 


«  Beech  er. 


1  Emerson. 


2  Bacon. 


610 


MAS   AND   HIS   RELATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS   ASPECTS. 


611 


beauty,  is  a  more  mysterious  mystery ;  and  when  the  youngest 
of  that  family  has  grown  old  and  hollow-eyed,  and  its  l.ght  has 
jrone  out  from  its  household  hearth,  the  savage  man,  no  longer 
savage  shall  still  flame  in  his  career,  which  has  no  end,  passing 
from  glory  to  glory,  and  pouring  a  fairer  light  across  the  dark- 
ness of  the  material  world.  The  orbit  of  the  mind  is  wider  than 
creation's  utmost  rim ;  nor  ever  did  centripetal  and  centrifugal 
forces  describe  in  their  sweep  a  comet's  track  so  fair-proportioned 
us  the  sweep  of  human  life  round  these  two  foci,  the  mortal  here, 
and  the  immortal  in  the  world  not  seen.' 

The  great  questions  of  ethics  and  of  religion  spring  sponta- 
neously in  the  mind  when  one  begins  to  know  and  rightly  to 

estimate  his  own  true  self. 

What  should  follow,  as  a  related  sentiment,  but  the  thought 
of  life's  sacrednessf     Surely  a  being  of  such  dignity,  so  dowered 
and  distinguished  by  God,  with  such  powers  within  h.m  and 
such  destiny  before  him,  must  possess  a  sacred  character.    "  And 
this  is  myself,"  says  the  thoughtful  young  man,  in  whom  this 
quality  of  self-respect  is  beginning  to  get  a  firm  footing.    "  I  am 
such  a  being  as  this.     I  am  this  mystery  of  mysteries,  this  mir- 
acle of  miracles,  this  magisterial  possessor  of  powers  so  high  and 
possibilities  so  great  that  an  angel  might  covet  them.     I  must 
carry  myself  as  befits  one  of  such  distinction.     A  rational  man, 
I  must  not  consort  with  the  brutes,  nor  give  place  to  irrational 
acts      I  must  not  be  a  trifler,  an  idler,  an  imitator,  a  trickster,  a 
parasite,  a  seeker  of  cheap  pleasures  and  petty  honors.    There  is 
power  in  me,  there  is  meaning  in  my  life,  and  there  must  be  a 
purpose.     God  has  a  place  for  me,  which  I  must  find  and  follow. 
There  is  a  high  destiny  before  me,  which  I  must  not  miss." 

And  so  life's  greatness  and  majesty  begin  to  stretch  away  into 
infinite  reaches  of  an  ideal  world,  which  is,  nevertheless,  more 


real  than  this,  and  which  sends  back  its  voices  and  its  potencies 
to  cheer  and  to  strengthen  the  receptive  mind.  .  .  ■  No 
man  can  see  himself  in  these  lights  without  feeling  that  there  is" 
tComuch  that  is  great  and  sacred  in  his  nature  and  destiny  to 
permit  him  to  misuse  a  life  so  richly  endowed.  He  can  not  dally 
with  toys,  nor  jilay  the  clown,  nor  prey  on  a  community  to  the 
worth  of  which  he  contributes  nothing,  nor  invade  the  rights  of 
others,  nor  occasion  any  necessity  for  them  to  set  a  police  force 
over  him  to  restrain  his  disorder,  nor  do  aught  which  the  truest 
self-respect  and  most  delicate  sense  of  propriety  forbids.' 

The  stars  have  us  to  bed; 
Night  draws  the  curtain  which  the  sun  withdraws. 

Music  and  light  attend  our  head. 
All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kind 
In  their  descent  and  being;— to  our  mind, 

In  their  ascent  and  cause. 

Each  thing  is 'fi^U-'ol  Du't;^::  .*  '  I  y\  j    //. 
Waters  united  are  our  navigation ; 

Distinguished,  pur r6?tbitiitipn;;^'  '  :';  .".  ;  •  j  •  .,    » 

Below  our 'd'rihk'.  "above 'our;  li^cah  J     !      y 

Both  are  our  cleanliness.  ^  ^  Hath  one  such  beauty  ? 
Then  how  aj-e  al^  tfiiAg^*  aeat/.^     .*•;    '.   .• 

...   ,  :..   ;  '.  ....  :\    y 

More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of.     In  every  path 
He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
O  mighty  Love!     Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him. 

Since  then,  my  God,  thou  hast 
So  brave  a  palace  built,  O  dwell  in  it. 
That  it  may  dwell  with  thee  at  last! 

Till  then  afibrd  us  so  much  wit. 
That  as  the  world  serves  us  we  may  serve  thee, 

And  both  thy  servants  be.^ 


'  Dr.  Payne. 


2  Herbert. 


1  Barker. 


f  f/y,  ■•       - :  JT: "*.***"*"•■    '7*».fT'f^'='^y 


P   -T^"  -''C^-f^,." '  t:' 


. 


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